Snapshots
by ChequeRoot
Summary: A collection of one-shots featuring OCs Preston Tucci and Antoine Radson that were originally posted on my public figure page. Glimpses into their lives that go on outside the limelight of my main stories. Humour, fluff, occasional drama; adventures in Preston and Antoine's friendship ranging from 500 - 6000 words each. [Cover art drawn by Gav-Imp of DeviantArt]
1. Classic Misunderstandings

Preston Tucci sat tucked into the corner of the couch, legs drawn delicately up, facing his housemate, Antoine. He ran his fingers over the edge of his wineglass.

Antoine had stretched himself out, slouched comfortably, legs resting on the footstool. He, likewise had a glass of wine which he leisurely twirled by the stem between sips.

Preston watched Antoine discretely over the rim of his glass. When Preston had started to learn more about his companion, he was surprised to discover that not only did Antoine drink wine, Antoine _knew_ wine. Preston had always assumed Antoine would be a beer drinker. Not so, apparently. The man had unexpectedly good taste in wines, and enjoyed imbibing on occasion. It turned into a little indulgence they would share on quiet evenings.

Antoine finished his glass, and reached for the bottle on the coffee table. "So tell me, Preppy," he began, using the nickname he'd so gleefully bestowed on Preston, "when you were young, where did you see yourself in your thirties?"

Preston cradled his glass in his hands and stared at his reflection. "Oh, I don't know," he replied softly.

Of course he knew. Who doesn't dream of their adult life when they're older, but Preston wasn't sure he wanted to share.

"Come on," Antoine pressed from the other end of the couch. "Talk to me."

Preston smiled, almost wistfully, watching his curved reflection in the bowl of his glass. "You really want to know?"

"Wouldn't have asked if I didn't," Antoine replied.

"Well," Preston began, his mind drifting back to his college years. Not that they had been so long ago, Preston himself was two years shy of thirty, younger than Antoine by nearly six years. "Well, okay," Preston began shyly.

"I always pictured myself finishing my MBA, and getting a job as an executive in some investment firm like my father; pulling easily five or six figures a year. When I wasn't working, I'd travel to the exotic locals of the globe. Eventually, I always hoped to meet some gorgeous guy: muscled, sun-bronzed skin, tight crew-cut. We'd fall in love, and I'd propose to him. We'd be married, some elaborate outdoor wedding, a white wedding, then he'd move in with me at my mansion, or maybe it would be a condo. Either way, living in a cultured neighborhood. I'd go to work, come home. Maybe some year we'd travel to Europe together." Preston took a sip of his wine. "That's what I always pictured anyhow. But now, I don't see that anymore. I found something far better."

He raised his eyes lovingly to Antoine.

"What about you?"

Antoine tapped his chest. "Me?"

Preston nodded. "I shared mine, didn't I?"

Antoine shrugged. "Fair enough." He closed his eyes. "I was going to move some place tropical, a bungalow right on the beach. I'd get a job as a copter pilot giving tours and flying people to the best surfing spots. I'd spend my days between the sun, surf and sand. In the evenings, I'd go home and cook dinner on a pit barbeque right on the beach. I'd count the stars to fall asleep. In the morning, I'd get up and do it all again." He closed his eyes dreamily.

Preston felt a slight twinge in his guts.

"That's it?"

Antoine opened an eye. "Yeah, why?"

"You can't see sharing that dream with someone else?"

"No, not really. I like being by myself. It's peaceful like that. What more could I want, you know?"

Preston set his glass down on the coffee table. "Eh… just forget it Antoine." He pushed himself up, an uncomfortable knot-like sensation in his chest. "I'm going to get myself something to eat." Preston made his way into the kitchen.

* * *

Antoine sat on the couch, confused, looking after his roommate in utter befuddlement. "What?" he asked. "What did I say?"

He heard Preston grabbing a plate, opening the refrigerator…

… Then it hit him.

Oh. Preston had been referring to them when he said he'd found something better. Antoine muttered a profanity under his breath. Preston had been referring to Antoine himself when he'd said he'd found something better. Why did Preston always have to be so complicated? Antoine wondered in frustration.

Antoine raised his head. "But this is nice too!" he called out, hopefully.

Preston heard, he was sure of it, but his thin housemate didn't reply.

"Come back, and we can watch your favorite movie!" Antoine offered.

"It's too late for that," Preston replied.

Antoine ran a hand over his face, frustrated. "Is this something flowers or chocolates would fix?"

Preston's head appeared around the corner, expression stormy. "You know what, Antoine? Screw you! I'm not someone you can just throw gifts at when you screw up, it doesn't work like that!" He disappeared again.

Antoine sighed. _Preston and his emotions_ , Antoine mused. _Why did he have to be so complex like that?_ He finished his wine, debated for a moment, then relented and poured himself yet another glass. Why didn't Preston come with an instruction manual? Were all guys this complicated, or had he, Antoine, just gotten lucky?

Ah well, Antoine decided. He'd figure it out later, give Preston some time to cool down. As long as Preston didn't decide to leave, Antoine knew they'd sort things out. After living with Preston, Antoine was not at all willing to go back to the single lifestyle again. Antoine regarded the couch. "Am I sleeping out here tonight?" he asked.

"I haven't decided yet," Preston replied.

Antoine rolled his eyes, not without a hint of affection. Preston Tucci: the only person in the world Antoine would allow to kick him out of his own room. And, Antoine thought, he was oddly okay with that.


	2. Christmas Dinner in Boston

"I still can't believe you said yes," Preston remarked happily.

Antoine shrugged.

"I also can't believe you dyed your hair," Preston added, brow furrowing slightly.

Antoine shrugged again. That morning, he'd covered the traditional turquoise colour he'd worn for years with a deep midnight black. In direct sunlight, there was still a faint blue sheen to his mane. Antoine stroked his beard thoughtfully. "If half of what you've said about your parents is true, then I'm pretty sure they wouldn't go for teal, you know?"

Preston nodded. "Still, I never meant to make you dye your hair."

"I dye it regularly."

"I meant change the colour."

"Ah."

Antoine stretched his feet out and folded his arms behind his head. He relished the feeling of the heated seats in Preston's Cadillac CT6. Even though the cab was a comfortable temperature, the heat rising up along his back and legs reminded Antoine of basking in the sun. "I'm surprised we're not staying longer," he observed, glancing at Preston.

Preston shrugged. "There's only so much time my parents and I can spend together. Don't get me wrong, I love them, but it can be a bit awkward. We don't, eh, see eye-to-eye on things." The trip from Plateau City to Boston would take about three hours. Preston planned it out that he and Antoine would arrive shortly before dinner; then leave not long after. He took the interchange from I-87 to I-90, the Mass Pike, and passed through a toll plaza without stopping. Preston had an electronic EZ-Pass card mounted on his windshield, above the rearview mirror. It made travel more efficient.

"I'm not going to get a tour of your parents' house?" Antoine asked.

"Condominium; and no. Not this time. There are a few things I want to get out of my room, but we'll do that some other time, when my parents aren't there. I'll give you a tour then."

Antoine made a non-committal grunt.

* * *

They arrived in the designated guest parking spot at the condo at nearly exactly five in the evening, just as Preston had planned it.

Antoine glanced at the clock. "Right on time," he observed. "Not much for traffic. But I guess everyone's already having Christmas dinner, so, yeah. Just us on the road." He crammed his black watch cap over his equally black hair, and stepped out of the car, pausing to straighten his sweater and adjust the collar of the button up shirt beneath. "This wool itches," he complained.

Preston gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. "You look sharp."

Antoine cast a quick look at his reflection in the car window. "I don't look like me."

Preston gave him a sympathetic smile. "Welcome to the wonderful world of my parents." He pulled a long coat out of the back seat and slung it around his shoulders. Unlike Antoine who had dressed mostly in greys, Preston wore a vest over a lavender dress shirt, and a pair of khakis. He wasn't vibrantly dressed, but for once he was the more colorful of the two.

"Don't feel bad," Preston encouraged as the headed up the front steps, passing through a polished door held by an equally polished doorman. "Thanks, Ramirez," Preston said softly, giving the man a nod.

"You know him?" asked Antoine as they made their way up the stairs. Preston insisted the stairs were actually quicker than the elevator.

"Ramirez has been here longer than I've been alive," Preston replied.

"Swanky," Antoine observed, glancing at the décor. "The ceilings are high."

"New England contemporary; originally a school house. That's why the ceilings are like this," Preston muttered as they quickly climbed to the top floor. The top hall only had two apartments, one on the east side, and one on the north. At the far end of the hall was the elevator. Preston paused outside a tall door recessed into the wall. He didn't bother knocking. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. After fumbling at the lock for a moment, he let them in.

"Mom, dad," he yelled as he stepped into the tile entryway, "we're here!"

"Come in dear," came his mother's voice from deeper inside the apartment. "Your father and I are at the table."

Preston slipped off his coat and hung it in the closet, then paused to wipe his shoes vigorously on the door mat. Antoine followed suit, eyes darting about. Antoine didn't appear nervous, but he wasn't at ease either. Preston was glad he'd come along though. It would make the evening go by quicker. His parents were sometimes a bit overbearing; and being the only child, Preston was the sole recipient of all their attention.

He led Antoine through the entry way, a comfortable eight foot in height. Once they stepped into the main room though, the room opened up. From floor to ceiling, it was easily fifteen feet. Antoine paused, eyes wide.

Preston barely noticed anymore.

The common areas of his parents' apartment used the original space of the classrooms, vaulted windows, high ceilings. The bathroom and bedrooms had ceilings of a normal height. A curving staircase off to the end of the combined living and dining room arced up to an open loft above the bath and bedrooms. Preston could feel Antoine at his shoulder, trying not to look around. Preston knew the square footage of his parents' apartment rivalled, and perhaps exceeded that of Antoine's house.

The coup-de-grace was the twelve foot tall live evergreen tree his parents had erected in the center of the living room. Preston tried not to roll his eyes as he joined his parents at the dinner table.

Antoine dropped into the seat across from him.

What followed next was the verbal dance of awkward, polite conversation; pleasant yet stilted. Preston's parents wanted to know how life was treating him, and inquired about Antoine, alternately talking to Antoine, and at other times about him as if he weren't there.

Antoine handled it all admirably, Preston thought. There was, however, the elephant in the room. Throughout his life, he'd never actually admitted his nature to his parents. Over dinner, uncomfortable as it was, Preston knew he couldn't keep avoiding the topic.

"Mom, Dad," he began slowly, during a lull in the conversation, "there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

His parents looked up. "Yes, dear?" his mother asked, giving her head a calculated tilt. It was her thing a little gesture she believed made her look interested and attentive.

Preston lifted his napkin off his lap and set it on the table. "I know you've both asked when I'm going to meet some nice woman and settle down. Mom, I think you even asked about grandkids last time we talked." Preston twisted his napkin nervously in his hands. "Well, that's not going to happen."

Preston's father gave a patronizing smile. "Oh, don't be so sure, Preston. You have lots of time to meet the right woman."

Preston shifted his weight. "I'm not going to meet the right woman for me."

"Don't be so pessimistic," his mother chided, reaching out and patting him lightly on the arm.

Preston moved back. "I mean," he said, glancing from his parents to Antoine, then finally down at the table, "that I'm not interested in women."

He waited a pause, to see what his parents would say.

After several uncomfortable moments, he looked up. "Don't be intimidated by them, Preston," his father said blandly. "You're just a late bloomer."

"Dad, I'm almost thirty years old. That 'late bloomer' stuff is ten years too late." He slid his plate forward and folded his hands on the edge of the table. "What I'm trying to say is… I'm gay."

Preston watched as his parents exchanged a look. His mother raised her eyebrows. His father give a subtle shrug and grabbed a roll out of the basket by his plate.

"That's nice, dear. It's good to be happy with yourself."

Preston took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He resisted the urge to rub his temples. "No… I mean, I like men." He tapped his fingertips on his plate for emphasis. "And yes, in that way."

Another wordless exchange passed between his parents.

Preston felt a surge of frustration. They always did this. Whenever he said something they didn't want to hear, they ignored it. It wasn't as if the topic of being gay had ever even come up in his household, not in support or opposition. In his parents' conservative views, there was only one sexuality: straight. Anything else simply wasn't discussed. Preston had expected some degree of denial from his parents. He hadn't expended them to be so blasé.

He took a deep breath. Time to try raw shock value. True or not, if these next words didn't get a reaction out of them, nothing would.

"I'm gay, I like men. Antoine's my boyfriend."

There was the clatter of a knife dropping on a plate. Antoine looked at Preston, mouth agape. He hastily regained his composure, gathered his knife, and mumbled a brief apology.

Preston's parents, however, didn't even bother looking up.

"Don't be silly," he mother remarked lightly, "men can't have boyfriends." She tapped her husband on the arm. "Would you be a dear and pass the potatoes?"

Preston suppressed a groan and sank back into his chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and closed his eyes.

"Are you going to want seconds?" his father asked casually.

Preston shook his head. "No, no. I'm good, Dad."

* * *

"Boyfriend?" Antoine exclaimed as soon as they were in the car. "When exactly were you going to tell me this?"

Preston sighed, and afforded his housemate a weak smile. "I know, Antoine. I was just… trying to get a reaction out of them, you know?"

"Prep, if anyone's in the closet around here, it's your parents." He cupped a hand over his mouth and mimicked the voice of Darth Vader. "Denial is strong with those ones." Antoine lowered his hand, placed it high on Preston's thigh and gave a squeeze. "Seriously though, boyfriend? You really think that?"

Preston shook his head. "No. I know you're not gay."

"Yeah…" Antoine's voice trailed off, his eyes growing distant for a moment. He glanced out the window at the downtown Boston scene sliding by. "You know, I'm better than some old boyfriend. I'm your best friend! Boyfriends come and go; but best friends? Those are forever." He tossed back his black locks and gave Preston a wink. "Believe me, Preppy, I'm not going anywhere. And, if I do, you're coming with me. I won't take 'no' for an answer."

Preston smiled in spite of himself. "Promise?"

Antoine nodded, beaming ear to ear. "For you, Prep? Absolutely."


	3. Give it Time

"So," Antoine Radson began hesitantly as he slid into the passenger seat of Preston's car, "how have your parents been taking it?"

Preston didn't need to ask what _it_ was. Slightly more than a month had gone by since he'd confessed his not-so-hetero sexuality to his parents over Christmas dinner. Ironically, it hadn't made the dinner any more awkward than usual, at least not for Preston.

Admittedly, it had caught Antoine completely off-guard when Preston referred to his housemate as his boyfriend; a statement Preston later retracted on the ride home. It had been a remark made more for shock value than anything else. Unfortunately it hadn't worked on the intended targets.

Preston pulled his car out of his parking spot at the Plateau City nuclear plant.

"Well, I've spoken to them a few times since," he admitted as he navigated the familiar route home. "My dad? He's completely denying everything. It's like that whole conversation doesn't exist for him. My mom's alternating between crying and wanting to know more about you. I think she's coming around."

Antoine picked at a loose thread at the cuff of his worn Carhartt jacket. He didn't look at Preston. "Are you going to tell her I'm not your boyfriend?"

Preston gripped the steering wheel tighter, leather gloves squeaking slightly.

"Because," Antoine continued, still tugging at the thread, "I'm not, you know. And it's not really right to lie about it."

Ahead the light turned red.

Preston braked, a bit harder than he had to.

Antoine felt his body suddenly caught by the seat belt. He gave Preston a reproachful look.

Preston turned, facing Antoine for a moment. "Yes, Antoine. I know, _Antoine!_ You don't hesitate to _remind_ me of that fact."

Antoine held up his hands, placatingly.

The light turned green. The car began moving again.

"I'm not trying to make you feel bad," Antoine muttered, looking down at his frayed jacket. "I… I dunno."

Preston made a sound of disgust, or possibly just annoyance. It was hard to tell.

"Your mom's pretty upset about this…" Antoine began, trying to redirect the focus off himself.

"Yes, she is."

"Do you know why?"

"Because it's not what she wanted."

Antoine tucked his hands up sleeves. "It's more than just you, you know. And I don't mean me. Because you keep telling me how your mom always wanted grandkids. And you're the only child. It's not like she's just sad your gay. She's gotta come to grips with an entire future she'll never have. Death of a family dream. That's hard. It's real mourning, even if the grandkids weren't real."

Preston coasted into their rural subdivision that backed up to the pine barrens.

"What would you know about that?" Preston asked, his voice a bit sharper than usual.

Antoine patted Preston's thigh as the pulled into the garage.

"I was in the system, remember? When I was little, I kept expecting that my real family would just show up; or, if not them, then my dream family would show up and adopt me. Like in _Pete's Dragon_ , or _Stewart Little_. That somewhere out there was the perfect family just waiting for a kid like me. All the movies said so, right?" Antoine gave Preston's leg a squeeze before letting go. He opened the car door and stepped out.

Antoine regarded the night air thoughtfully for a second, then he turned and rested an arm on the roof of the car. He lowered his head and leaned in, staring levelly at Preston. "That 'perfect family' thing never happened. I got bounced around a lot, and by the time I was thirteen I knew it was never going to happen, so I stopped hoping for it. The dream of having a mom and a dad, brothers and sisters? That died. So, yeah, Preppy, I know all about death of a dream. Believe me."

Antoine straightened up, shutting the car door.

* * *

Preston sat there for a few moments, watching Antoine amble into the house. Antoine rarely talked about his childhood, and Preston never asked. From time to time, Antoine would talk about this or that, little glimpses into his past that revealed remarkably little. He'd had a family once, Preston knew, that he'd hoped would become his forever-family. His foster father had been a helicopter pilot, and would take Antoine flying with him.

That, Preston knew, was where Antoine's passion for flying had come from. It was a pivotal event in young Antoine's life that set him down the road to becoming a pilot himself, and eventually a certified instructor.

Preston grabbed his briefcase and followed Antoine into the house.

"Am I being selfish?" he asked as he set it on the kitchen table.

"Maybe," replied Antoine's voice from the bedroom.

"I guess I just wanted… something from telling them," Preston confessed, following Antoine's voice. His housemate was changing out of his work clothes into a pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt. Antoine had little sense of modesty. Still, Preston kept his eyes on the carpet while Antoine dressed.

"What did you want? A parade or something?" Antoine replied back as he pulled the shirt over his head and let his hair down. He ran his fingers through his teal mane and shook it out.

Preston said nothing.

"The fact that you're still talking to your parents as much as ever, that's a good thing," Antoine remarked as he stepped around Preston and padded into the kitchen. "If they haven't cut you off now, they're not gonna. But you've had, I dunno, however long you've had to figure out your whole 'gayness.'" Antoine grabbed a can of cola from the fridge and opened it with a satisfying pop.

Preston followed and sat down at the breakfast bar. He loosened his tie.

Antoine offered him a Coke-a-Cola, which he accepted.

"You figured out you were gay, what, early twenties or something?"

Preston ran his fingers around the can. He drew a scribble in the condensation, then wiped it away. "Teens, actually."

Antoine leaned on the counter. "Right. So, what, like a decade or something. And you're expecting them to get with the program in a month?" Antoine took a sip of his cola. "Yeah, you are being selfish. You want me to be your boyfriend, and you want your parents to be all happy about your sexuality. Well…" Antoine paused and took another sip. "Sometimes you just gotta accept things as they are, you know? Give things time. I mean, I think we've got a pretty good thing here. I'm happy."

Preston started to say something, then shut his mouth. He looked down at the counter. A small pool of water was forming under the cold can. He moved it, leaving a circular puddle on the granite. He felt Antoine's thick hand on his head, Antoine's fingers ruffling through his hair. A familiar, affectionate gesture.

"Don't get all mopey, Prep. They're your family, they love you. Give,'em time, right?"

Preston looked up. He couldn't help but smile. Antoine had this way of making him feel better. _Do_ you _love me?_ Preston almost asked, but thought better of it. Though the question burned against the inside of his lips, he couldn't risk letting it out. This wasn't the time to ask that. Perhaps later, perhaps never; definitely not now.

He let Antoine continue to stroke his hair.

"For someone who claims he never had a family, you seem to have a good understand of what it means to be in one."

Antoine cupped the back of Preston's neck in his warm, rough palm. "I had plenty of chances to see what family could be. And a lot of time to dream about it. So maybe I don't know from my own experience exactly, but yeah, I know what it should be like. Every family's a little dysfunctional. But your parents care. Give them time, okay?"

Preston reached up, wrapping his hand over Antoine's. He smirked. "Are we 'dysfunctional?'" he teased.

Antoine laughed. "Preppy, I put the fun in dysfunctional. Heck, dysfunctional's practically my middle name." He smiled toothily, that familiar devil-may-care grin that Preston found more than a little reckless.

"I know that's not your middle name."

"Oh yeah?"

Preston nodded. "Your middle name starts with an 'E.'"

Antoine looked momentarily caught off guard. "How'd you know that?"

Preston gave as innocent a shrug as he could. "I saw the monogram on your cufflinks. Are you going to tell me what it is?"

Antoine shook his head, smiling, but tight-lipped. "Nope! Not at all."

Preston ran his fingers along the sides of the pop can. "Never?" he asked. He tilted his head, feeling flirtatious, and trying not to show it.

Antoine pursed his lips, and ran a hand over his beard with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "Maybe someday," he intoned, expression coy. "You know, when I feel like it."

Preston raised his eyebrows. "And until then?"

Antoine winked. "Give it time, Preppy. Give it time."


	4. Three Day Weekend

"Three day weekend," Antoine mused as he slung his suitcase into the trunk of Preston's car. "Can we do that?"

"Yes," Preston replied putting his bag next to Antoine's, "we can."

"Why now?"

"My parents are out of town. I want to get some more of my stuff out of my old room while they're gone. It'll be easier that way."

Antoine muttered something, and slung his body into the passenger seat. "We're just staying overnight, right?"

Preston nodded as they headed down the familiar blend of highways out of Plateau City, and eventually to the Mass Pike. Preston didn't say much as he drove.

Antoine made several attempts at conversation before eventually giving up. He pulled a handheld game console out of the pocket of his cargo pants and began playing.

Antoine had been to Preston's parents' condo once before. They had a top floor unit of a building that had once upon a time been an old schoolhouse. The ceilings were easily fifteen feet high, and the unit Preston's family called home probably had more floor space than his house.

Preston parked his Cadillac in the designated space, and made his way into the building. Antoine followed at his heel, feeling rather self-conscious. The difference between his upbringing and Preston's was never thrown into quite such stark relief as when he saw how Preston had grown up.

Hell, Antoine thought, Preston's parents had even hired a nanny of sorts to raise Preston and oversee his care while they were busy working.

Antoine followed Preston up a few flights of stairs, which Preston assured him was quicker than taking the elevator, and paused at a tall door, recessed into the wall. Antoine watched as Preston fished out his keys and without hesitation let himself in.

The apartment was just as Antoine remembered it: a tiled-floor entry way with a coat and laundry closet to one side, and a ceiling of normal height. Preston tossed his coat over the back of a chair by a wooden desk, and Antoine did likewise. The foyer had two short halls branching off. One led to the bathroom, the other to the bedrooms: one for Preston, and one for his parents.

They continued past the halls into the apartment, Preston looking around somberly as he went.

The entry way gave way from tile to wood, and the ceiling opened up to the main room. Like many condos, the Tucci residence boasted an open floorplan. The dining room and living room were merged into a shared space, the kitchen accessible through an open arch to the side.

Antoine hadn't had time to look around before. His visit last time, Christmas dinner, had been terribly brief.

Across the dining area a set of double-doors opened onto a steel fire escape that doubled as a balcony. A spiral staircase connected the living room to the upper level; the loft as Preston called it. "I didn't really come in here much," Preston explained, gesturing to the living room. "I was usually in my room, or doing homework in the kitchen under Mrs. O'Mara's watchful eye." He pointed up the stairs. "The library, as my father calls it, is up there."

Antoine strolled into the center of the room, looking up at the tall floor-to-ceiling windows along the western wall. He spun in place, taking it all in. "You know," Antoine remarked, "I thought your folks were just putting on the ritz for Christmas. This place looks like this all the time, eh?"

Preston nodded. "I was allowed to be in the living room, or the library. But at the same time I was to keep things exactly as my parents had it set up."

"There's not much evidence you were here."

Preston gave a dry laugh. "There wasn't much evidence of that when I was a child either."

"Oh," Antoine said sadly.

Preston picked up on it. "Hey, Antoine, it wasn't all bad. There were plenty of good memories too. My parents, especially my father, were tiger parents. They pushed me fairly hard, but I think it was worth it."

"Do you?"

Preston led Antoine down the hall to his room. "I think so," he replied, pushing open the door and holding it for Antoine.

Antoine stopped short, Preston almost colliding with him. The room was not at all what Antoine had expected. Various posters of nineties alternative groups covered the walls. An entertainment stand with dominated one wall, filled with CDs, and VHS cassettes that boasted hand-written labels. An small, boxy TV, the old tube kind, sat next to a VCR. On a shelf nearby was CD player unlike any Antoine had ever seen before. It stood upright, the CD held on edge. A pair of sliding glass doors allowed access to the disk or controls. A matching remote sat next to it.

The headboard to Preston's bed rested against the wall, the bed itself open on both sides. A desk occupied a corner beside the window.

Antoine's eyes fell on a music stand next to the desk. "You play an instrument?" he asked.

Preston blushed a bit. "Yeah…"

"Do you play _well?_ "

Preston pulled a case out from under the bed. "I took lessons since I was eight. So, I'd say fairly well. I haven't played since grad school, and I don't think it was every quite good enough for my parents." He set the case on the desk without opening it and went to the wall of video cassettes. "Where is it?" He trailed his finger across the shelf, head tilted sideways to read the labels.

"Ah, here he go!"

Preston pulled out a tape and slipped it into the VCR.

"This is from when I was about twelve," he explained as he turned on the TV. He chuckled. "My parents weren't too pleased about it. The school I went to did an annual talent contest. It was a private school, so participating wasn't truly optional. Anyhow, I did a piece with my viola. My parents were expecting something classical. They didn't expect this…"

Preston fast-forwarded through the introduction and the first few acts, then paused the video. "Come here," he said, patting a spot on the bed next to him. "Sit down."

Antoine sat, feeling vaguely awkward. It felt strange to think of Preston as a child, and sitting on the same bed young Preston had slept in made him feel slightly uncomfortable. There was something almost too personal about it for Antoine's taste.

Preston didn't notice.

"Here we go," he said, and unpaused the tape.

* * *

The stage lights came up, illuminating three boys with shaggy nineties hair that had been popular in that era. One sat behind a drum set, the other stood off to the side, a bass guitar slung across his body on a black strap. Preston was recognizable: the tall, thin lad standing at the center of the stage, his eyes dark and large for his thin face.

Preston held a viola by the neck in his left hand, the bow for the instrument dangled from his right. The kid on the drums beat out a few measures on his sticks. Preston nodded his head in time with the rhythm, then looked up.

 _I need your arms around me  
I need to feel your touch_

The boy with the bass joined in, adding a layer to the percussion and Preston's chant.

 _I need your understanding  
I need your love so much_

 _You tell me that you love me so  
You tell me that you care  
But when I need you_

"Baby" the boys all shouted, "you're never there!"

 _On the phone  
long, long distance  
always through such strong resistance  
First you say you're too busy  
I wonder if you even miss me_

Young Preston brought his viola into position and began plucking a few chords, wavy hair falling about his eyes.

 _Never there_

 _You're never there  
You're never ever, ever, ever there_

"Hey!" the boys yelled.

Preston tucked his chin over the viola and began to play, the notes jazzy yet forlorn. After a moment he paused and lowered the instrument.

 _A golden bird that flies away  
A candle's fickle flame_

"Hey!"

 _To think I held you yesterday  
Your love was just a game._

 _A golden bird that flies away  
A candle's fickle flame_

 _You tell me that you love me so_

 _You tell me that you care  
But when I need you…_

"Baby!"

 _Take the time to get to know me  
If you want me why can't you just show me  
Well, always on this roller coaster  
If you want me why can't you get closer_

 _Never there  
You're never there  
You're never ever, ever, ever there_

 _Never there  
You're never there  
You're never ever, ever, ever there._

Preston whipped his instrument under his chin and closed his eyes, pouring himself into the final instrumental. His slender body swayed with the melody as he rocked his heel in time to the beat. The boys behind him gave an occasional whoop or cheer as he finished the final notes, and lowered his viola.

Young Preston dropped his head his head to his chest and froze, the stage lights dimming around him.

* * *

Preston stopped the video and turned off the TV before Antoine could see any more. "Never There," he explained, "by a band called 'Cake.'" He removed the tape from the VCR without rewinding it and put it back on the shelf.

"I don't know what upset my parents more: the fact that I was playing alternative, or the fact they thought I was making a comment about them."

Antoine leaned back on his elbows. "Were you?"

Preston gave a half-smile. "No, not really. Maybe a little bit, but mostly I liked the song and it had parts I could play. While my parents were home I'd practice classical, but when they were out, I'd listen to that song over and over. I'd play along with it to get the notes right. It was a bit of a surprise to them. They weren't too pleased. My friends thought it was good though. I thought so too." Preston smiled.

Antoine regarded the shelves of CDs thoughtfully and leaned back on his elbows. "You have a lot of music. I never knew you listened to so much stuff."

Preston shrugged. "My parents didn't think I should watch TV. But music and books were always encouraged. They didn't always know what I was listening too, and I didn't always tell them, but they'd pretty much buy me any album I asked for." He leaned back next to Antoine, shoulder to shoulder. "Music was kind of an escape for me."

Antoine flopped onto his back and folded his hands across his chest.

"I guess you needed to escape a lot," he said, half-teasingly.

Preston laughed. "Oh, come on. It wasn't bad. Hey!" he protested as Antoine rolled himself to his feet, "where are you going?"

"Mind it I look through your collection?"

Preston shook his head. "Go for it."

"Thanks."

Antoine got up, searching the backs of the jewel boxes for a specific artist; all the while using his body to block Preston's view of his hand. Preston, naturally, had everything organized alphabetically. It didn't take Antoine long to find what he was looking for. Carefully he grabbed the album, and slipped into his shirt. He slid the remaining cases around, hiding the gap he'd created.

"Did you find it?" Preston asked from the bed.

"Nah," Antoine replied, coming back over to him. He lay down, facing Preston, careful not to let the shape of the CD show through his sweatshirt. "So, what next?"

Preston pushed himself up. "I thought I'd take you down to Providence. I'll show you where I went to college. There's a nice hotel down there, we can stay over if you want."

Antoine was a bit taken back. "Uhm, yeah, sure," he agreed.

"Great!" Preston snagged an album off the shelf. "I think you'll have fun." He motioned Antoine to follow him, pausing momentarily to grab a set of keys off a hook by the door.

Preston's uncharacteristically exuberant nature was at odds with the man Antoine had come to know. Antoine followed loyally at Preston's heel, out of the apartment and back down to the street. Instinctively, Antoine turned towards the parking lot.

"No," Preston crowed. "This way."

"But… your car…"

"… Can stay there for a while. Come on, Antoine."

Bemused, Antoine hurried to keep pace.

Preston led Antoine through the narrow urban streets to warehouse-like brick building with a high iron fence surrounding it. Antoine couldn't help but notice the outward pointing spikes on the fence, however decorate they were made to appear. Nor could he ignore the video cameras placed at regular interviews.

A sign on the building proclaimed it to be Dean's Climate Controlled Storage.

Preston didn't hesitate. He strode confidently in through a set of glass doors, and leaned on the counter. An impeccably dressed woman looked up and smiled. "May I help you, sir?" she asked.

Preston held out the keys and his ID. "Bay sixty-seven, if you'd be so kind."

The woman took the keys. "It will take a moment, sir. The vehicle is on the second level."

Preston gave a casual shrug. "We're not in too much of a rush," he shrugged, glancing at Antoine.

Antoine bobbed his head in agreement.

"Yes, sir," the woman replied. She stepped through a swinging door into the back of the building.

Antoine flopped down on a leather couch, and took stock of his surroundings. Everything had an automotive theme to it. The photos on the walls, the 1950s chrome accents and vibrant colors. Slews of car magazines sat on the tables. Luxury cars, not the weekend auto-trader pages from the local classified. Antoine picked one up and flipped through it, looking at pictures, but not really reading anything. He felt the couch yield as Preston dropped down beside him.

"Mind telling me what we're doing?" Antoine asked quietly.

Preston smirked. "Something I've wanted to do for a very long time. We're going to Providence."

"So why are we here?"

"We're going to take _the car_." Preston's voice through emphasis on the word car, as if it were somehow worthy of proper noun status.

"I see," replied Antoine, still uncertain. "The Car?"

Preston smiled, brown eyes twinkling with an unusual spark. "Oh yes."

Before Antoine could ask further, they heard the throaty purr of an engine circling up front. Preston rose, tugging Antoine by the arm.

Antoine tossed the magazine back on the table, and followed Preston outside.

A stunning, candy-apple red Mercedes-Benz convertible idled out front, roof down in the unseasonably warm weather. A mechanic in spotless white overalls standing beside it, holding the driver's door open for Preston. The license plate hardly escaped Antoine's notice. "TUCCI1" it stated boldly.

Preston slipped into the driver's seat, running his hands over the black leather seats approvingly.

Antoine slid into the passenger's seat next to him.

Preston slipped the mechanic a five dollar bill from his pocket and set back onto the main street towards his parents' condo.

Antoine found himself particularly uncomfortable with the arrangement. "Uhm, Preppy, what are we doing?"

Preston gave him a wink. "Just borrowing my father's car. This is his pride and joy, a 1963 Mercedes 190SL. I've always wanted to drive this thing."

Antoine sunk down into the seat. Memories of his early days driving in the parts yards, long before he had his license, flashed through his mind. "We're not going to get arrested, are we?"

Preston gave him an incredulous look. "No! Of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"No reason," Antoine replied. He had to admit it was a gorgeous car. Spotlessly maintained, the dash and front console were painted the same vibrant red as the body. The interior was shades of grey carpet and black leather. The round dials on the dash made Antoine think of portholes on a ship. The single cross-bar steering wheel only added to the nautical theme. The car itself was not overly long, but it sat on the road, solid, gliding rather than rolling.

At a stoplight, Preston reached into his coat and and pulled out a pair of mirror-tinted sunglasses. He took off his regular glasses and folded them into the case, then beamed at Antoine. "We'll get out luggage, and we're good to go."

* * *

Out on the open road, Preston took the CD he'd grabbed from his room, and popped it into the dashboard player.

Antoine observed jokingly that the CD player didn't seem like sixties technology.

"My father doesn't show the car, and he likes having a few modern conveniences. He still has the original stereo though." He handed the CD case to Antoine, who read over it before putting it in the glovebox: Best of the 90s Alternative Rock. Antoine said nothing, and put the CD away. He'd never paid much attention to Preston's music choices before. Then again, Preston generally listened through earbuds while he read. It had never occurred to ask Preston what he listened to. Antoine had always assumed it was all Adam Lambert and contemporary pop.

Preston skipped through a few tracks, and turned up the volume. "This was always one of my favorite songs," Preston yelled over the wind and radio. He leaned back in the driver's seat, threw his left arm casually on the door, one hand on the steering wheel; singing along, fingers drumming to the beat.

 _Have you ever been close to tragedy_  
 _Or been close to folks who have?_  
 _Have you ever felt a pain so powerful_  
 _So heavy you collapse?_

 _No?_

 _Well I've never had to knock on wood_  
 _But I know someone who has_  
 _Which makes me wonder if I could_  
 _It makes me wonder if_

 _I've never had to knock on wood_  
 _And I'm glad I haven't yet_  
 _Because I'm sure it isn't good_  
 _That's the impression that I get_

He switched his left hand to the wheel, grabbing Antoine's with his right.

 _Have you ever had the odds stacked up so high_  
 _You need a strength most don't possess?_  
 _Or has it ever come down to do or die?_  
 _You've got to rise above the rest._

 _No?_

 _Well I've never had to knock on wood_  
 _But I know someone who has_  
 _Which makes me wonder if I could_

 _It makes me wonder if I've never had to knock on wood_

 _And I'm glad I haven't yet_  
 _Because I'm sure it isn't good_  
 _That's the impression that I get_

Antoine curled his fingers around Preston's and stared at the road ahead of him. The song seemed oddly ironic, and he found himself wondering what (if anything) was going through Preston's mind. Antoine's mind flooded with images from that fateful day in Springfield, at AlkaliStark. The day they'd been trapped like rats, and almost died.

 _Do or die? Rise above the rest? Yeah_ , Antoine thought as he squeezed Preston's hand. His meek little PreppyDog had shown himself to be a hero, leaping into the line of fire like that. And the fallout from that, physical, and emotional... It wasn't something he liked to recall.

Sure, Antoine could joke about getting shot with an arrow, but that was different. It was easier to get hurt than it was to see someone else get hurt. _It's okay if it's me_ , Antoine thought, holding Preston's hand tightly. _I can handle it_.

The song came to an end, but Antoine didn't even notice. It wasn't till Preston started trying to pull his hand back that Antoine snapped into the present again.

"Well?" Preston asked.

Antoine realized the radio had been turned down. "Well, what?" he asked, confused.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I didn't hear you ask one. Sorry. I wasn't paying attention."

"I asked if you were okay?"

Antoine licked his lips. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

Preston laid both hands on the wheel. "You seemed distracted."

"I was just thinking."

"About?" Preston nudged.

Antoine ran a hand over his beard. "That song, the words. Made me think of AlkaliStark… and you."

Preston's face clouded over. "I hadn't thought about it."

"It seems, I dunno, prophetic," Antoine confessed.

"I suppose it does."

Several moments of silence passed, both men lost in thought. Eventually, and expectedly, Antoine spoke first. "Where are we going, Prep?"

Preston followed the south-east route he knew by heart. "Down to Providence. Rhode Island; remember? I went to Brown, and there's a club I used to love going to. It's not too far from the college, and there's a hotel nearby with a private lot. The car'll be safe. We can stay overnight, and get my stuff tomorrow before we head back."

Antoine nodded thoughtfully, still lost in thought.

The rest of the drive passed uneventfully.

Though Preston was delighted to be back at his old alma mater, Brown University left Antoine feeling rather unimpressed. He half-listened as Preston happily rambled on about the architecture, how it was a mix of colonial and roman, the histories of the various buildings, where he'd taken this class or that. It all made Antoine's head swim.

It wasn't that Antoine wasn't smart. He considered himself a man of at least average intelligence. He had to be to fly a chopper, right? But he was smart through his hands, with his body. It might've taken him an hour to read what Preston could flip through in a matter of minutes, but the idea of handling machine controls seemed as intuitive as walking for him.

 _There's all different kinds of smarts_ , Antoine thought contentedly as he strolled beside Preston, enjoying both the company and the weather. He tucked his hands into his pockets and sighed happily. It felt good to get out of the car, be back on his feet. Sitting still for long periods had never been Antoine's forte.

It didn't really matter what Preston was saying. Antoine was simply pleased to be near him. _It's a nice place_ , Antoine reflected, looking up at some pillared tower as they walked. _Not for me, but nice_.

"This place totally fits you, Preppy," Antoine noted, moving a step closer. He hesitated a moment, then draped an arm around Preston's shoulder in an utterly friendly way. "So this is where you learned to be you, eh?"

Preston blushed unexpectedly. "It's where I was finally able to get some space from my parents; yes."

"Why the blushing?"

Preston's face reddened further. "Oh, I… nothing really. It felt good to cut loose a bit. Nothing too wild, of course. I couldn't risk my grades, naturally. But I was able to get to know myself a bit better."

Antoine paused in mid-stride. He hesitated for a moment before falling back into step with Preston. "I… see?" He peered into Preston's face.

Preston returned the look. "You had a good idea of who you were and what you wanted to do with your life by the time early on. By the time you were fifteen, you were paying your own way in life."

Antoine shrugged as they passed the steps of a building Preston identified as the Ratty.

"Sharpe Refectory," he explained, seeing Antoine's mildly disgusted expression. "Refectory; the dining hall."

"Oh." Refectory didn't sound all that better to Antoine's ears than "Ratty." _Why not just call it a cafeteria_? He wondered silently.

* * *

Preston left the Mercedes with the valet outside of a classic colonial looking hotel. Antoine carried their bags out of habit as Preston got them checked in. The decorations were simple, but elegant: dark wood fitting (once again) the colonial time period, with furniture in the appropriate styles thereof.

Their room itself continued the theme: splendor of the 1600s, Antoine noted.

Preston had gotten them a room with a single king bed. Antoine hadn't even noticed him mention anything about that at the front desk. Again, Antoine felt a weird sensation in his stomach. He had no idea what it was from. They shared a bed this size most nights back at home; Antoine sprawled on his half, Preston on the other side. Occasionally they'd curl up together when the mood struck. Antoine liked the feeling of holding Preston against him. Preston apparently liked it too.

But that was at home. No one had to know about it. Here, Preston requesting a room for the two of them with one place to sleep? That was different. Antoine exhaled through his teeth.

While Preston showered Antoine continued to eye the bed nervously. _Please_ , he muttered to himself, _please don't let him be thinking this is more than it is…_

What was it anyway? To Antoine it was a great friendship that he didn't want to ruin. Without a doubt the most satisfying dynamic he'd ever been in. With Preston, he had everything he could've ever hoped to find in a companion. _If it works, don't mess with it_ , Antoine mused as he sat in a Victorian arm chair by the window. And Preston seemed happy, right? So why change anything.

After what seemed like forever, Preston emerged from the bathroom. His hair was gelled up in spikes. He wore a loose button-up shirt, untucked, and a pair of tight blue jeans. Very non-Preston attire, in Antoine's eyes.

Preston patted Antoine on the shoulder. "Ready to go?"

"Where?" Antoine asked hesitantly.

"There's a bar down the way that I used to go to in college," Preston explained. "They have music, drinks. Stuff like that."

"Most bars do." Antoine felt that sense of uneasiness curl in his stomach again.

"It feels like you're not telling me everything," Antoine remarked as they followed the tree-lined sidewalk.

Preston shrugged, and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans. He led Antoine up to a relatively unmarked steel door, and stepped inside.

Antoine followed, eyes adjusting to the dim light. He blinked, looked around, his apprehension intensifying by the moment. "Wait? What? Oh, c'mon, no Preppy," he balked. The inside was packed with patrons, nearly all men. Music, a steady and lively pulse wafted up from the sunken dancefloor in the back. A well-stocked bar graced the main wall, and along the far side several tidy booths had been placed, offering a bit of privacy for those who wanted a break from dancing, or to split a pizza.

"It'll be fun," Preston insisted, tugging on Antoine's sleeve.

"No. No, no, no." Antoine held out his hands "I don't dance, I don't 'club.' This is not my scene, Preppy." He folded his arms across his chest, feeling utterly self-conscious. It was a rare sensation for him, and he didn't much like it.

Preston's face fell. "Not even a little?"

Antoine looked at the mass of humanity down on the dance floor. "Go enjoy yourself, Prep. I'm going to get a drink."

Preston let go of Antoine's sleeve. With one last look over his shoulder he turned and slipped easily through the crowds.

Antoine sidled up to the bar, found a stool at the end, and ordered a jack-and-coke. He stared at the reflective surface of the bar, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Occasionally a friendly face popped by, asking him if he'd like to dance or share a drink. Antoine would smile with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "Eh… actually I'm here with someone."

"Oh, your loss. I love that blue though," the man said nonchalantly. "It looks good on a bear like you."

Antoine tried to smile. He wasn't sure if he managed it. "Thanks," he replied.

"If you change your mind," the man added, as he took a step back. He gave Antoine a wink before disappearing back into the crowd. Antoine sighed and ordered yet another jack-and-coke. He spun on his stool and leaned his back against the bar. Where on earth was Preston anyhow? Antoine's keen eyes scanned the crowd for the familiar face.

There, he was more or less in the center. Antoine felt a surge of relief, but it only lasted a second. Preston had unbuttoned his loose shirt, to expose the mesh tank top he wore beneath.

That wasn't what bothered Antoine however.

Clothing was a personal choice Antoine was fairly liberal with.

No, what upset him had nothing to do with Preston's attire.

"Aww, what?" he groaned with incredulity. "Ah… no."

Antoine paid for his drink, detached himself from his barstool and made his way through the sea of warm bodies. He slipped up between Preston and another young man. "Mind if I cut in?" Antoine asked. "Thanks."

He leaned close to Preston, trying to imitate the dancing figured around him. "Okay," he hissed in his housemate's ear: "What gives, Preston!?"

Preston regarded him, expression innocent. "I was dancing," Preston replied, not bothering to stand still.

Antoine felt an unpleasant feeling in his chest. It was a feeling of some sort, he reasoned. Perhaps the same thing he'd felt before, or maybe it was a different one. He wasn't even sure. In his own words, he wasn't good with 'feels.' Whatever he felt, he knew exactly the reason. He glared at Preston.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "This is dancing," Antoine explained, holding his hands about three feet apart. Antoine moved his hands closer till there was about a foot of space between them. "This is 'close dancing.'"

Preston watched him, expression neutral.

"This!" Antoine snapped, holding his fingers about three inches apart, "is _not_ 'dancing,' and I am not okay with it."

Preston gave an annoyed roll of his eyes. "I'm just unwinding. And why does it matter? You're not even gay."

Antoine straightened himself up to his full height. It still put him a few inches shorter than Preston, but he didn't care. "Look," he said, agitated, "that's not important right now. You came here with me, you'll be leaving with me, and don't you dare get any ideas otherwise."

With that, Antoine stalked back to the bar and sat heavily down. He ordered another drink, and was fiddling with the edge of the coaster when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

The familiar scent of Preston's cologne filled his nostrils. He looked up, oddly deflated.

"Mind if I sit?" Preston asked, gesturing to the stool next to him.

Antoine pulled it out and held it.

Preston sat down.

His hair was rather rumpled, his shirt still unbuttoned. Sweat glistened on his brow and down his throat. Antoine took a moment to notice the faint five o'clock shadow of a beard on Preston's face. Technically more of a ten-PM shadow, Antoine thought ruefully. He resisted the urge to reach up and wrap an arm about Preston's neck. He wasn't sure that would be a good idea. Things suddenly didn't feel so simple anymore.

"Do you want to go?" Preston asked.

Antoine looked down at his drink and nodded.

"How many of those have you had?" Preston asked.

Antoine closed his eyes, and tried to count, but the numbers kept getting jumbled in his mind. "I honestly don't remember, Prep," he replied. "Either too many, or not enough. I'm not sure which, you know?"

Preston gave Antoine's shoulder a squeeze. "I know the feeling. Come on, Antoine, let's go home." He paid for Antoine's final drink.

Antoine let Preston guide him through the upbeat crowd to the door. As they walked back to the hotel, Antoine paused to tie his shoe at a bus stop. "The funny thing about crowds, Preppy, is they can be one of the loneliest places on earth."

"You didn't have a good time?"

Antoine shook his head. "No, not at all."

Preston looked away. "I was hoping you would."

"Why would I?" Antoine asked as they resumed their walk. "I like doing things with you. When we go someplace and you're doing things with other people, well, then you're not doing them with me." Antoine kicked at a pebble. "I'm not okay with that, you know?"

Preston didn't say anything.

Neither man spoke as they took the elevator to their floor, and got ready for bed. Preston shrugged off his shirt, and pulled his tank top off over his head. Antoine sat on the bed, eyes never leaving Preston's body. "There is one good thing out of all this," Antoine began cautiously.

Preston paused, tank top in hands. "Oh? What's that, Antoine?"

Antoine pointed to Preston's stomach, to an area to the left of Preston's naval: a circular patch of pale skin. "You're not self-conscious about your scar."

Preston paused, running his fingertips over the slight depression. "I didn't even think about it tonight," he said softly. He turned, arching his spine, trying to see the exit wound on his back. After that proved fruitless, he stopped and reached back, feeling his skin.

Antoine said nothing. The divot in Preston's back, just below the ribs was still there. That would probably never change. But the healed skin was lighter, closer to Preston's pale peach tone; not the dark rose hue it had originally been shortly after the incident. Preston twisted his body in front of the mirror, looking over his shoulder.

"It's fading, if that's what you're trying to see," Antoine offered. "It's a good thing," he added.

The two men finished their evening routines without much further discussion, Preston taking his medication and slipping between the covers. While Antoine tended to sleep in his in nothing but his trunks, Preston preferred to wear a tee-shirt for modesty.

Antoine felt the mattress shift as Preston got himself comfortable. After a minute of thrashing around, Preston settled down, facing the edge of the bed. Antoine slid closer and pressed his back against Preston's, feeling the warmth of Preston's body through his housemate's thin shirt. "Good night, Prep," he muttered.

"Good night, Antoine. Tomorrow we'll drop off my father's car, get the stuff out of my room, then go back to Plateau."

"What about our three day weekend?" Antoine asked, thinking of the CD he'd stealthily liberated from Preston's collection.

"I think we'll need a day off just to get back to normal from this one."

Antoine rolled on to his back, allowing Preston to snuggle closer. "Ah, Preppy," he whispered. "What is normal anyhow?"

Preston gave a faint giggle. "I think it's a town in Ohio."

Antoine gave Preston a gentle squeeze. "That stuff's kicking in, eh?"

"I guess so," Preston replied sleepily. He burrowed his head under the covers, and within minutes was breathing slow and regular.

Antoine folded an arm behind his head. _A small town in Ohio? I guess he does have a sense of humor after all_. Antoine yawned, stretched, and closed his eyes. Maybe on the drive home, he'd play that song for Preston. If there was one song that summed up his feelings that one would be it. Antoine could hear it already… Change a few words, and it fit perfectly. Yes, Antoine thought decisively. That would be precisely what he'd do.

 _He don't care about my car_  
 _He don't care about my money_  
 _And that's real good because I don't got a lot to spend_  
 _But if I did it wouldn't mean nothin'_

 _He likes me for me_  
 _Not because I look like Tyson Beckford_  
 _With the charm of Robert Redford_  
 _Oozing out my ears_  
 _But what he sees_  
 _Are my faults and indecisions_  
 _My insecure conditions_  
 _And the tears upon the pillow that I shed_

 _He don't care about my big screen_  
 _Or my collection of DVD's_  
 _Things like that just never mattered much to him_  
 _Plus he don't watch too much TV_

 _And he don't care that I can fly him_  
 _To places he ain't never been_  
 _But if he really wants to go_  
 _I think deep down he knows that_  
 _All he has to say is when_

 _He likes me for me_  
 _Not because I hang with Leonardo_  
 _Or that guy who played in "Fargo"_  
 _I think his name is Steve_

 _He's the one for me_  
 _And I just can't live without him_  
 _My arms belong around him_  
 _And I'm so glad I found him once again_

 _Gazing at the ceiling_  
 _As we entertain our feelings in the dark_  
 _The things that we're afraid of are gonna show us_  
 _what we're made of in the end_

 _He likes me for me_  
 _Not because I sing like Pavarotti_  
 _Or because I am such a hottie_  
 _I like him for him_  
 _Not because he's rich like Cindy Crawford_  
 _He has got so much to offer_  
 _Why does he waste all his time with me_  
 _There must be something there that I don't see_

 _He likes me for me_  
 _Not because I'm tough like Dirty Hairy_  
 _Make him laugh just like Jim Carrey_  
 _Unlike the Cable Guy_  
 _But what he sees_  
 _Is that I can't live without him_  
 _My arms belong around him_  
 _And I'm so glad I found him once again_  
 _I'm so glad I found him once again_  
 _Once again_


	5. Antoine's Parents?

Preston Tucci read through a handful of memos, then dropped them in his "purge" pile. Nothing of great significance, definitely nothing that needed to be saved. He'd taken care of the urgent matters for the day, everything else could wait for tomorrow, except one thing.

"Miss Vought," Preston called, raising his head.

"Coming, sir." His personal assistant, Rigel appeared in the doorway. "Yes, sir?"

Preston gestured to the invitation that sat smugly at the top of his inbox. "I need a date for that dinner. Can you find someone who's available on the twenty-third?"

Rigel nodded. "I'll pull from the beard file, sir."

Presto nodded, only half listening. "Good, you do that." He opened his email and started reading the messages Rigel had forwarded up to him. A second ticked by, two…

 _Wait a minute!_ his mind yelled.

"Rigel!" he snapped.

The black haired woman reappeared, expression neutral. "Yes, sir?"

Preston pushed his glasses up on his nose. "What file did you say you were pulling names from?" he asked, folding his hands together on the edge of his desk.

Rigel flushed, clearly caught in an uncomfortable position. She tightened her grip on her tablet as if it were a shield.

"The 'beard file,' sir," she replied hesitantly.

Preston ran a hand over his thin face and groaned inwardly. "I should hope, Miss Vought, that is not a phrase you have ever used when talking to someone else regarding your little list of names?"

Rigel shook her head. "No, sir. I'd never do such a thing."

"Just as you'd never refer to it as 'the beard file' to me, Miss Vought?"

Rigel paled slightly.

Preston rose from his chair, crossing around his desk and coming to a stop less than a yard away from his assistant. He clasped his hands behind his back and drew himself up to his full height. Tall, thin, angular. "Miss Vought," he began, voice barely above a whisper. "If you ever refer to my list of female companionship by that name again, I can assure you that conversation will take a far different tone than this. I do not want to hear the phrase 'beard' used again in regards to my lady friends. Do I make myself clear?"

Rigel swallowed and nodded. "Crystal clear, sir."

"Good. I'm glad you understand that."

Preston returned to his desk and waited till she was safely out of sight before collapsing into his chair. His heart beat a frantic rhythm against the inside of his ribs. All those years of training, maintaining perfect control in the business world. That god she couldn't read his mind, see the crushing anxiety within his slight frame. Beard file, indeed. If Rigel hadn't figured out his nature by now, she was quite clearly on the right track.

In the corporate world, reputation was everything. Preston couldn't risk being outed, not even accused. What would the Board say? Enough damage had been done by Rhonda LeBlanc over a year ago. Factor in that she then went missing shortly thereafter, and the interrogations Preston had endured during the investigation into her disappearance… The fact he'd managed to escape with his sanity, the truth, and his sexuality still in hand was no small feat in itself.

While New York might have laws protecting discrimination based on sexuality, Preston knew the Board could find other ways to route him out if they wanted to. Though his job was more secure than it had been after he took the place of Thaddeus Dimas as CEO, it was by no means guaranteed.

"Beard file," Preston groaned, reaching for his overcoat. Just when he was starting to think things were looking up.

* * *

A silver Subaru was parked at the curb between his house and the neighbor's. Preston paid little attention to it as he pulled into the garage.

He was looking forward to coming in, slipping into a pair of sweatpants, and enjoying a glass of wine and the crossword puzzle from today's newspaper. Sweatpants… Antoine had convinced him of their virtue. Now Preston wondered how he'd ever been able to relax without them.

Antoine was home already, not entirely surprising. He'd finished work early, and caught the bus home. It was nice having someone to come home to, Preston reflected as he stepped inside the laundry room that connected the garage to the kitchen.

Immediately, Preston's nose was filled with the scents of barbeque sauce and smoked meats, the smell carried on the wind through the house from the grill out back. Antoine's voice, bright and cheerful called out from the kitchen: "Hey, glad you're home! Did you remember to pick up the coleslaw?"

Preston clenched his teeth. Coleslaw, of course he hadn't remembered. He'd gotten Antoine's text just before the whole 'beard file' bit derailed his train of thought.

"No," he admitted, hanging his coat in the closet by the washer. "It completely slipped my mind."

"Oh."

Preston could see Antoine's face fall in his voice.

"I guess we'll just have salad then," Antoine replied.

"That's okay, Antoine," came a second voice, a woman's. "Salad's fine."

What?! Preston's head snapped up. He shoved his wallet into his pocket, and hurried into the kitchen.

Out of all the things he could've expected, the scene that greeted him was not one of them.

Antoine sat along one side of the table. Across from him sat a woman, her silver-blond hair loose about her shoulders. She wore a flannel shirt, and a pair of faded blue jeans. At the head of the table sat a solidly built man, his ebony skin matched by his hair and beard; save for a few streaks of grey that made their way into both. He leaned back in the chair, expression amused.

Preston froze, unsure of what to say or do.

He felt Antoine's hand on his shirt sleeve, tugging him forward. "Come one, Preppy! It's about time you're home."

"There he is," the broad-shouldered man laughed. "So you're the man Antoine keeps talking so much about."

Preston's mind spun frantically, trying to figure out what was happening. He said nothing as Antoine pulled him into an empty chair.

The woman smiled at Preston. "You look familiar," she remarked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Course he looks familiar," the man replied, grinning. "Remember that article in your society pages, Debbie? Mister Eligible, himself, eh?"

"Oh, that's right!" She turned her attention to Antoine. "You never told us your housemate was the CEO of the nuclear plant."

Antoine rubbed the back of his neck and gave an innocent shrug. "Must've slipped my mind, you know?"

The man at the head of the table gave a belly laugh. "Oh, come off it, Antoine. Nothing slips your mind unless you decide to let it."

Antoine tilted his head to the side. "Guilty as charged."

"Straight up you are!"

Preston opened his mouth, but no words came out. He shut it and looked around the table in utter bewilderment. Finally, he looked at Antoine for help.

"Oh yeah," Antoine said. "Where are my manners. Preston, meet Debbie and Marcus. Remember how I said I was having company over today? Yeah, and that's why I needed coleslaw? Well, anyhow, I guess you could call Debbie and Marcus my parents."

Preston held up a finger to ask a question, then hesitated.

Marcus grinned at him, teeth shining against his dark skin. Preston thought he caught the glint of a gold tooth in the smile, but couldn't be sure.

Antoine sensed the pause in the conversation, and jumped back in. "Remember you talking with your folks over Christmas? I got to thinking about Burnsie, his family and stuff…" Antoine's voice trailed off.

The woman, Debbie, picked it up. "Marcus and I got a postcard in the mail about two months ago."

Marcus nodded. "It said 'I figured I'd reach out to you. I'm on social media. Hit me up if you want to chat. Same last name. Antoine." Marcus rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "Although he hardly needed to sign it. Your handwriting's pretty recognizable."

Preston afforded himself a slight chuckle. Antoine's so-called handwriting was a barely legible scrawl, some hodgepodge combination of print and cursive that was utterly unique, and distinctly Antoine.

"We talked back and forth a bit online," Debbie explained. "Then decided to meet in person."

Marcus folded his hands across his broad chest. "And now, here we are."

* * *

Preston's eyes circled around the table. Despite the explanation, none of it made any sense. He reached for a pitcher of iced tea in the center of the table, and poured himself a glass. "Your… parents?" he began, looking at Antoine, perplexed.

Antoine gave a bashful shrug. "Eh, foster parents, but yeah. I mean, they're my parents as much as anyone's ever been, right?"

Behind him, a timer dinged. Antoine pushed himself up. "S'cuse me. I gotta go check on the ribs." He let himself out onto the back deck.

Preston sipped his tea. "So…" he began slowly.

Marcus beamed at him. "Cat gotcher tongue, Mister Eligible?" he teased lightly. "Antoine never said you were the quiet sort."

Debbie reached out and took Marcus by the arm, shushing him gently. "Marcus and I were Antoine's foster parents while he was about ten. We never planned for him to go back in the system, but then Marcus wound up in the hospital-"

"Had to have a triple bypass surgery," Marcus explained. "Minimally invasive, my ass. I got one hell of a scar. Wanna see?" He reached for the buttons of his shirt.

"NO!" Debbie and Preston yelled in unison; Debbie slapping Marcus's hands back down.

"No one wants to see your bypass scar," Debbie chided her husband.

Marcus rolled his eyes and reached for a plate of veggies and dip.

"Anyhow," Debbie continued, "with him in the hospital, and me splitting my time between him and trying to keep enough hours at work to cover the bills, we wanted Antoine to go stay with Marcus's parents up in Schenectady." She gave a helpless shrug. "Child services wouldn't hear about it. They wanted him to go back into the system, and we lost that fight."

"Story we got told was we'd be able to get him back when I got better," Marcus grunted. "Load of bull that was. By the time I was better they said he was already in a new home, and that was that."

Preston glanced out the sliding door to the patio where Antoine stood over the grill, a pair of tongs in hand, turning the ribs.

"So you… never gave him up."

"Not at all. He's a great kid! Used to take him flying with me. Said he wanted to be a pilot himself. And now he is," Marcus added proudly.

Slowly, a picture was beginning to form in Preston's mind. Pieces of a puzzle coming together slowly but steadily. "So you're the family he talks about," Preston began.

Marcus and Debbie exchanged looks. "Well, if you say so, I guess we are." Marcus nodded.

Preston wrapped his hands around his glass, thinking. "He doesn't talk much about his past," Preston confessed. "Most of what I know is little pieces here and there, but he always talked about this family who he hoped would be a forever thing, where his foster father would take him flying…" Preston took a sip of his iced-tea. It was semi-sweet; just enough sugar to take the edge off, but still crisp and refreshing.

Debbie smiled and snagged a carrot of her husband's plate. "He's always been a private person. He didn't tell us much about you either, to be honest. He told us he had a housemate." Debbie popped the carrot in her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and took a sip of her tea. "Of course I had to ask him if he had a special someone in his life," she began. "He told me he didn't need one."

"Might've said something about having found one," Marcus added. "But sometimes getting answers from him is like pulling teeth from a crocodile."

"We didn't push the issue," Debbie finished. "He seems happy though."

The door slid open. Antoine lumbered in, a plate full of ribs and a second platter of grilled corn balanced precariously on his arms.

"Let me help you with that," Preston offered, hopping up.

"Hmm, thanks, Preppy."

The two men placed the food on the table.

"So," Antoine began as they dug into dinner, "did Marcus try to show you his scar?"

Preston rubbed the bridge of his nose and laughed. "Oh yes. I can see the family resemblance."

Preston was suddenly aware that three sets of eyes had focused on him. He felt his cheeks redden, and looked away awkwardly. "I mean, well, I didn't mean it like that. I, uh…"

Marcus threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, what? You've never seen a man and his son before?"

Preston blushed harder. Debbie stifled a giggle behind her hand. Antoine gave a barking laugh, then threw his arm around Preston's shoulder. The familiar weight was reassuring. He let Antoine tug him closer. "Oh, relax, Prep," he grinned. "It's all in good fun!"

Everyone laughed, and Preston, wedged up against Antoine's side, felt himself joining in.

* * *

Preston wiped down the table as Antoine loaded the dishwasher.

"You know, Antoine, I really enjoyed meeting your parents."

Antoine looked up, face neutral.

"I mean, you foster parents. I mean… oh lord, Antoine. You know what I mean."

Antoine nodded. "I know."

Preston swept a few crumbs into his hand and tossed them into the garbage. "Do you think you'll keep in touch from here on?"

Antoine nodded, blue hair swinging about his face. "Yeah, I think so. It's weird seeing them again, but it was nice. I enjoyed it." He raised his eyes to Preston. "How'd you like it?"

Preston tossed the rag into the sink and sat down at the counter. "They're a lot more laid back than my parents."

"Right?"

"Right." Preston rested his chin on his hands. "It was nice of Debbie to let us keep that key lime pie she brought. She seems like a fine woman, very down to earth."

Antoine nodded. "She and Marcus both are. I mean, they're just cool people, you know? I was worried they'd have forgotten about me by now, but I figured everyone else was connecting with family, and I guess I felt a little left out." Antoine shrugged. "So we talked online for a while, and now, well, there it is."

"Do you think we'll do this again?" Preston asked.

Antoine gave a vigorous nod. "Oh, absolutely, sure! Marcus really wants to see the Little Diva. Maybe next time, I'll get her out and take him up for a flight." Antoine propped himself on the counter and regarded Preston thoughtfully.

Preston felt his face redden again under Antoine's gentle gaze.

"Did you tell them anything?"

Antoine raised his eyebrows in false innocence. "About?"

"About us." Preston held his breath, not daring to hope.

Antoine stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I told 'em I had an awesome housemate, who'd done a lot of cool stuff and was kind of important. I might've also mentioned he was my best friend in the world and I couldn't imagine life without him." Antoine twirled a hand casually. "That last part might've just slipped out."

Preston smiled, and reached across the counter. He draped his hand over Antoine's.

"That's okay, right?" Antoine asked, raising his eyes.

Preston smiled. "Absolutely." He gave Antoine's had a squeeze, before standing up and excusing himself. Out of sight of Antoine, Preston let his face split into an ear-to-ear grin. _As if there was ever a question, Antoine? Of course it's okay. Better than okay..._ He smiled as he slipped into a pair of grey sweatpants. ... _Absolutely!_


	6. Elephants in the Room

Preston Tucci sat at the desk in his bedroom, listlessly browsing the internet. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, mostly killing time. Antoine was in his own room. Sometimes, space was good.

Ever since their trip to Boston, probably before that if Preston were to be perfectly honest with himself, his dynamic with Antoine didn't feel like enough. It seemed the more he mentally recovered from The Incident, the more like his old self he felt. That was good in some ways, bad in others. The confidence that had served him so well in the past, that was returning. Even some of his old arrogance as well. It definitely made work easier to feel in charge again. Important when one happened to be the CEO.

There was a flip side to that though.

When Preston had first returned to New York, he had been in and out of the hospital for regular check-ups. Cold hands, and even colder tables, making sure there was no lasting trauma from the bullet that had pierced his abdomen. That, in and of itself wasn't a pleasant experience. But it wasn't the worst.

The hardest part had been returning to his small apartment on the River Side of Plateau City. Everything seemed too quiet, too still. In the dark of night, his mind replayed the details of the incident with increasing vividness. Preston felt himself drowning in the memories. They consumed him.

It was Antoine who had noticed something was up.

Antoine who offered his home. _You can stay here till you get your feet under you_ , Antoine had said. Or something very similar to that. Antoine had made up the guest room for Preston, helped him bring a few essentials over from the apartment. _Make yourself at home_ , Antoine said.

Even though he wasn't alone, Preston still found himself overwhelmed and unable to sleep. On the third night, he'd swallowed his pride and crept into Antoine's room.

Antoine's bedroom, the master bedroom was spacious and relatively clutter-free. He had a king-sized bed, and thick black curtains that could block out even the brightest midday sun. Antoine had been, technically still was, a pilot. Mandatory down-time was part of the package deal. Sometimes that required sleeping during the day.

Preston had groped his way in the darkness until he found the footboard of Antoine's bed. Antoine must've heard him. There was a rustle of cloth as he pushed himself up. _Ugh, Preppy… what's up? You need something?_

Preston ran a hand over his throat, squeezing himself, trying to wring out some courage. _I can't… I just… Can I stay here tonight?_

Antoine shifted, had pulled back the covers and patted the mattress. _That's fine. There's plenty of room. You need to sleep_. Antoine had then slid over the opposite edge, and let Preston climb in between the flannel sheets next to him. It had been stiflingly warm, and yet, it felt just right: a dark and cozy nest. Preston felt his body relax almost immediately. The effect was only enhanced when he felt Antoine's strong arm wrap around his chest. _Nothing's gonna hurt you, Prep. Not while I'm here_ , Antoine rumbled softly. He gave Preston a squeeze, then fell silent.

That had been the first night Preston had actually slept well.

He'd expected it to be a one-time thing. It turned into their standard arrangement.

And that, Preston thought as he stared at his laptop screen, was part of what made everything so complicated.

As he continued to recover mentally, a combination of finding the right counsellor and the right medication, it wasn't merely his old attitude that was returning. Antoine was, as far as Preston understood it, asexual. While Antoine was cuddly and emotionally affectionate, Preston was creature with more physical needs. He hadn't thought much about that in some time, probably stress and medication both, but as he felt better… well, certain desires were returning.

The relationship he had with Antoine, simply put, wasn't meeting all his needs.

Preston sighed as he browsed yet another mindless click-bait website. He and Antoine hadn't talked about this. Well, they'd discussed it a little on a vacation to Florida, but they hadn't actually had a lengthy discussion about where _they_ as a _couple_ were headed… or even if they were a couple at all.

During their trip to Boston, they'd gone down to Providence, Rhode Island. There, they'd visited Preston's alma mater, and afterwards a dance club Preston used to frequent during his college days. Preston had hoped Antoine might get into the mood, dance with him; maybe it would lead to something.

The only thing it led to was Antoine drinking by himself at the bar while Preston forgot his inhibitions for a time. Preston enjoyed the moment, then it got awkward. Their walk back to the hotel had been full of dangling sentences. That night Antoine had slept on the edge of their hotel bed, putting a notable space between them. The next morning though, on their drive home, Antoine played a rather sappy song in the car, and winked playfully.

Antoine confused him.

Preston leaned back in his chair, pushed up his glasses and covered his face with his hands. "Ah, fuck," he groaned into his palms. He ran his hands through his hair. All the available men in the city, and he hadn't even fallen for a straight. He was crushing on a guy who wasn't interested in anything with anyone. Well, maybe at least that wasn't as bad as a straight. At least Preston didn't have to worry about Antoine coming home with a girlfriend.

"This is not going to go anywhere, is it big boy?" he muttered to himself.

He leaned forward and entered in the website address of a dating site he used to use. He'd deleted the contents of his profile shortly after becoming CEO, but he kept his account active. Dating or not, this self-imposed celibacy was starting to get old. Preston logged off his laptop and went to find Antoine.

* * *

As expected, Antoine Radson was in the master bedroom, browsing Facebook and chatting with someone online. He didn't look up as Preston entered.

"Waylon says hi."

"Tell him I said 'hi' back," Preston replied as he sat down on the opposite side of the bed.

Antoine's fingers flew across the keyboard. For someone who was a slow reader, he could certainly type fast enough. He paused, read Waylon Smithers' reply, and made a face.

Preston watched as Antoine's brow furrowed. He glanced up at Preston nervously, typed another reply, then shut the lid of the laptop quickly. "So, Preppy," he said a tad nervously. "What's up?"

Preston glanced at the shut laptop under Antoine's palms. "Is something wrong?"

"Wrong? Nah. Not really. Just stuff. Springfield stuff. Anyhow, what's up?"

Preston looked at his hands. He wrung them together, then sighed heavily. "Antoine, how would you feel if I started seeing people?"

Antoine's face creased as he processed what his housemate had just said.

Preston waited patiently, nervously. He realized he was squeezing his hands white.

"See people," Antoine repeated slowly. "As in _date_ people…"

Preston nodded.

Antoine's was leaning on the laptop, rolling his weight forward towards Preston, expression stormy.

"Yeah, Preston. You can _see_ _other people_. It's a free country, I can't stop you… But if you go out, don't come home. _Ever_."

With that, Antoine snatched his laptop off the bed and stalked off.

Preston heard the door to the basement slam. A few seconds later, the deep sound of explosions came through the floorboards interspaced with gunfire. _Call to War_ , or something like that. Antoine's "I'm angry" game. The one he always played when he was pissed off. And he had the bass cranked all the way up.

 _There's your answer_ , Preston thought morosely. He slouched back to his room, and closed the door.

* * *

Antoine turned down the bass and adjusted the Bluetooth headset around his ear. "That better?" he asked the familiar face on the screen.

"Much," replied Waylon Smithers.

Antoine had opened his laptop and the Skype application, connecting his gaming headset to the computer. It allowed him and Waylon to continue their conversation while he worked out his frustrations in the safety of a virtual warzone. Waylon, meanwhile, was working on some project at his desk.

"So Preston wants to see other people," Waylon observed without looking up.

"Yep." Antoine reflexively dodged with his character, jerking the controller to the side. As if it made a difference. Grenades. It was always grenades. He leaned back and waited for the respawn counter to tick down.

"Forgive me for being presumptuous, but I always got the impression you two were something of an item."

"I did too," Antoine replied. He skillfully maneuvered his character around a bunker and crouched down, waiting.

"So what's the problem?"

Antoine toggled through his character's weapons. Rifle, pistol, knife… wrench! That would do the trick. A battered tank sat unattended on a hill. "Well," Antoine began, "I'm happy with what we've got, but he wants more. Something a bit less platonic, if you get my drift."

Waylon clearly understood. "Ah." He nodded.

"And that's not really my bag," Antoine confessed as he ran up the hill and started 'fixing' the tank. "He wants, eh, more than I'm comfortable with."

"It's pretty apparent Preston's gay," Waylon observed.

"Yep."

"And you're not…"

Antoine's character climbed into the freshly repaired tank and set off towards the main combat zone. "I'm nothing, really," Antoine replied. "I mean, if I ever were to want… you know… it would be with him. But I'm not comfortable with it."

Waylon looked up from his paperwork. "You've thought about it."

"Probably more than I should."

There was a lull in the conversation. Waylon opened an email, skimmed through the contents. He blanched. Antoine, immersed in the game hardly noticed. Waylon coughed. "Hey, Antoine?"

"Yo."

"Pause that a minute."

Antoine paused the game and set his controller on the couch. He hunched closer to the laptop. "What's up, Waylon?"

The man on the screen was paler than usual. "Antoine, I'm going to send you an email I just received. Read it over. I'll wait."

Antoine drummed his feet on the floor. A few seconds later, the mail alert chimed. Antoine opened the email and read it through carefully, so he wouldn't miss anything.

"You people lost Rhonda?" He glowered at Waylon.

Waylon gestured to the message. "Our chief of operations at the India facility went to take her for her daily constitutional around the property, and found the links hacksawed through."

"You know, when Burnsie said she was chained to a desk…"

Waylon waved a hand. "I know, I know. It's hard to tell what's a metaphor with him sometimes. I'm never sure myself."

Antoine grunted.

"If it's any consolation," Waylon offered, "I'm sure your perfectly safe. I wouldn't worry about it."

Antoine leaned towards the computer, shoulders square, glaring at Waylon through the camera. "Yeah? I hope now, Waylon. Because she caused a lotta grief for Preston, and I don't need him going through that again."

Waylon looked away.

"That's right, look sad about it," growled Antoine.

"Oh," Waylon explained, "I'm not sad for me. I'm sad for Preston! You care the world for him."

Antoine made a snorting sound, but it was an affirmation.

"Have you even told him how you feel about him? How _do you_ feel about him?" Waylon probed.

Antoine folded his arms across his chest. He muttered something barely audible.

"What was that?"

"I said I love him, okay?"

Waylon threw up his hands. "Have you told him that?"

"Why do I need to? He knows." Antoine couldn't bring himself to look at the screen.

"Unless you tell him, he'll never know for sure. I've seen the way he looks at you. He's head-over-heels for you, Antoine!" Waylon shuffled some papers on the desk. "Look, it's not my job to tell either of you what to do with yourselves. I've got enough going on in my own life right now. But I know how it feels to love someone who you don't believe loves you back. It's that point, teetering between elation and despair. It's a horrible place to be, Antoine. I lived in that hell for twenty years!

"Preston's feeling better, he's healing. And, as he does, those parts of him are going to reawaken. If he's got needs that you aren't able to meet, is it really fair to him to keep him hanging on? You'll have to make a decision; do what's right for him."

Antoine grabbed the can of pop sitting on the end-table and finished it in one long swallow. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It had gone flat, but at least it was still cool.

"What do I do?"

"I don't know, Antoine. That's between you two to figure out."

"Right." Antoine crushed the empty can in his hand and dropped it on the floor. "And what about Rhonda? What are your people doing about that?"

Waylon looked up through the screen.

"We're running traces, doing a search through the authorities, but there's not too much we can do other than watch. Technically, we moved her illegally. We can't capture her without doing more of the same. At this point, we're waiting to see what she does."

Antoine made another snort, this one of irritation. "Wait and see approach. Great strategy."

"Don't be surly," Waylon admonished. "I didn't have to tell you at all."

"Yeah." Antoine hung his head. "Sorry 'bout that. So what do I do?"

Waylon tossed a few papers into an unseen outbox. "You have my word I'll keep you informed with everything as soon as I hear it." He folded his hands, tenting his fingers. "I'm looking out for you; you and Preston both. I don't want to see either of you fail."

An off-screen voice echoed into the frame. "Hey, Dad? Are you in there?"

Waylon raised his head. "Give me a minute, okay Ryan?"

Antoine raised his head. "'Dad?'" he repeated.

Waylon gave a rueful smile. "Didn't I say I had a lot going on in my life? It's been quite the adventure these last few months. First Monty's acting strange, then I find out I have a son I never knew I had. That incident down in Louisiana… Rhonda…" Waylon offered a weak shrug.

"What happened in Louisiana?" Antoine asked.

Waylon waved a hand. "Nothing you need to worry about."

"Huh. Right. Falls into the 'some other time category,' eh." Antoine rubbed his chest. "So… Rhonda. Should I tell Preston or not?"

"Antoine," Waylon began a bit tiredly. "That is your decision. Do I think you're in danger? No. Do I think it might be premature to worry Preston? Yes. Would I tell him? No; but I'm not you."

The conversation was winding down. Antoine reached for the controller. "Okay, so this'll be our little secret then. I'm not really okay with this, but I guess I'll have to be for now."

"If I might offer one bit of advice," Waylon interjected.

"What?"

He rubbed his fingertips together. "If you want to keep Preston in your life, you need to be honest with him. But you have to be fair to him too. If you love him, _tell him!_ Then let him decide where he wants to go from there. Maybe he'll decide he wants to stay with you, maybe he won't. Maybe you'll both find a way to make this work. I don't know. What I do know is: he needs to know the truth about how you feel. That way, whatever he decides, at least it's an informed decision."

Waylon glanced down for a moment. "It hurts to think someone doesn't care about you; but it hurts just as much to realize they did all along, and never said anything." He looked up and gave Antoine a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "That's how people wind up moving across the country for 'space.' Tell him. It'll mean the world to him."

Antoine picked at his fingernail. His heart and head were swimming in thoughts, most he couldn't identify. "Will it… will it make him stay?"

Waylon's brown eyes were soft, sympathetic. "It might not, but it definitely won't hurt."

Antoine took a deep breath, stared at the ceiling, exhaled slowly. Feelings were never his forte. Rhonda, Preston… it was all very complicated for a person who considered himself a simple man. "Yeah, it won't hurt." He glanced at the screen. "Hey, thanks Waylon. Wasn't trying to seem ungrateful that you told me about Rhonda. I do appreciate it and all."

"I understand, Antoine. Don't worry about it. Now, you better get back to blowing stuff up. That war won't win itself."

Antoine looked at the frozen scene on the TV, heroic music playing softly in the background. "I think I've got a bigger war to fight right now. In here, you know?" He tapped his chest.

"I know all too well, Antoine," Waylon replied. "I wish you the best with everything."

Antoine nodded. "Laters, Waylon." He gave a weak half-salute, then ended the call.

Preston… his dear Preston. Antoine groaned and stared at the ceiling of his den. Ah, shit, he muttered to himself. "Hey, Preppy!" he bellowed at the ceiling. "Can you come down here, there's something I gotta talk to you about. Please," he added as an afterthought.

 _Is this the right time?_ He wondered as he heard Preston's footsteps on the floor above. _For some things, this was probably as good a time as any,_ he reasoned. Antoine inhaled slowly, and glanced towards the stairs. Preston's feet were coming into view. _Well,_ Antoine thought, giving himself a mental push. _Here goes nothing…_


	7. Preston's Evening Out

**Two Weeks Earlier...**

Antoine Radson sat on the beat up couch in the basement of his ranch-style house. He considered the basement his den, his home theatre, a place to escape from the world. He stared at the empty end of the couch his housemate, Preston, had vacated mere moments before.

Antoine had intended to discuss some serious matters with Preston, however once the young man sat down across from him, Antoine realized he was at a loss for words. After a moment, Antoine recovered, and broached a topic different from the one he'd initially had in mind.

 _You want to go out more, see other people…_ Antoine had started, cautiously.

Preston gave a shrug and indicated that was rather true.

 _Okay, Prep,_ Antoine sighed. _Here it is for ya: If you want to go out, go to clubs, dance, whatever you do, then go do it. And if you want to hang out and chat with other people while you're there, that's fine. But if you mean someone you want to do more than 'talk' with, well, I hope you'd have the decency to at least come home and tell me. And then, I'd want you to move out because…_

Antoine had faltered for a moment, struggling with words.

 _Because I'm not cool having this sort of relationship with you if you're not equally committed to me; you know. So go out, have fun, but be honest with me. I'm not gonna keep you if that's not what you want, but I don't want you staying here if that's not where we are. Right?_

Preston's brow had furrowed at the Antoine's remark, expression accepting, but there was a hurt look in his eyes. He got up, and patted Antoine on the shoulder as he left. _You're a good friend, Antoine_.

 _Yeah, that's what everyone says_ , Antoine replied morosely before returning to his game. Friend. What a heavy, and layered word that was.

* * *

 **One Week Earlier...**

Preston Tucci threw on a well-cut leather jacket. He was going for a refined look: dark slacks, a turtleneck, the sleek looking jacket he'd had since college. The sort of leather jacket one could wear with business attire. Or, in this case, going-out attire.

Antoine was on the couch, staring at the TV.

"I'll be back later," Preston called out.

Antoine gave a grunt and nodded. The blue-haired man was remarkably taciturn on the topic of Preston's going out. It was, Preston hoped, something that would change in time. Last weekend, he'd declined the traditional after work get-together with Antoine and several of their co-workers in lieu of going to a bar downtown.

This weekend, he planned to do much the same. It was nice, he reflected as he made his way to the bus stop. The change of scenery was good. And Antoine? Well, he'd been positively moody lately, like he was keeping something secret. Preston knew Antoine wouldn't talk until he wanted to. There was no point in prying. It was easier to carry on with his own affairs.

The ride downtown wasn't so bad. There was one transfer where he picked up the downtown line, but other than that, it was an easy ride. Better than driving and trying to find a parking spot, he mused as he stared out the dark window.

Plateau City was built along the cliffs above the Hudson River. The downtown region had a central plaza known as Monument Park. The surrounding area with shops, restaurants, the Lowry art gallery? That was known as "downtown."

There was a bar that Preston used to frequent back during the so-called Dimas Era, the time when he'd served as a personal assistant to the former, and now deceased, CEO Thaddeus Dimas. An "all-inclusive" bar, with a steampunk theme.

After he became the new CEO, Preston had stopped going there. He'd also been working through some of his own personal demons. He hadn't gone out much at all during that time.

Preston got off the bus, crossed the street, and made his way down a familiar avenue along the edge of Monument Park to the bar. He paused at the familiar door, a feeling of trepidation rising up. What if someone from the nuclear plant recognizes me? he worried. Could I lose my job over this?

Screw it, he argued back at himself. The only way they'd see me is if they're here too.

With that, he stepped in.

The bar, known as J. Vernie's prided itself in being a safe space for all patrons. Whether it had originally been a gay bar with a steampunk theme, or a steampunk bar that became a gay hangout, Preston wasn't sure. He suspected the former. Steampunk hadn't become a popular genre until recently. The bar had been here for longer than that. The name itself, J. Vernie's, conjured up images in his mind of Jules Verne. Preston had a hunch that wasn't a coincidence.

He walked over to the bar and sat down. New bartenders. All new. He didn't recognize any of them. Preston ordered a martini, and turned in his chair to watch the scene.

A few familiar faces, a lot of new ones. That was to be expected. It had been a while. He recognized a broad shouldered man over by the pool tables. Ellis, or something like that. The guy was friendly, easy-going, and loved to play pool. Something about Ellis reminded Preston of Antoine.

Preston didn't want to think about Antoine.

He sipped his martini and looked at the cam-shafts that hung for decoration along the ceiling, at the artwork along the walls, the shifting colors of the tiles behind the bar. He was in no rush. It was nice to simply be out. Preston sipped his martini, and thought about life.

"You look like you could use another." A cheerful voice roused Preston from his personal musings.

Preston looked up. A man about his age was leaning on the stool next to him. He had a friendly, boyish face with high cheekbones, and light brown eyes. His shaggy, dirty blond hair curled about his ears. "Mind if I sit?" the man asked.

Preston smiled and gestured to the chair. "Please."

"Thanks." The man plopped down and raised a finger towards the bartender. "Hey, Jacky, I'll have another peach crush. And this guy here'll have another whatever it is he'd drinking."

"Just a martini."

"A martini for Mister Tucci then."

The bartender nodded.

Preston rested an elbow on the bar. "Well you have me at a disadvantage. Apparently you already know who I am."

The man laughed. "Anyone who read the society pages last year knows who you are. You did make the front page, after all."

"Not my choosing," Preston muttered into his drink. "Someone bribed the photographer."

"Do you know who it was?"

"Oh," Preston replied, "I have an idea."

"Well, give him a handshake for me. It's a beautiful picture of you." There was something genuinely appreciative in the blond man's mannerisms.

Preston smiled, and leaned back, straightening his shoulders. "I'm glad you think so." He twirled his drink thoughtfully. "So, are you going to tell me your name? Or am I going to have to guess?"

The blond gave a wink. "Which would you prefer?"

Preston chuckled. "How about you tell me."

"My name's Keith," the man replied extending a hand, long fingers tipped downward. A woman's offering. It was an awkward angle, palm angled down like that.

Preston took Keith's hand nonetheless, and gave it a shake. "Well, Keith, it's nice to meet you. I'm Preston… which you already knew," Preston added, mildly embarrassed. Of course Keith knew who he was.

"So what brings you here?" Keith asked, tilting his head in a flirtatious way.

Preston resisted the urge to look away shyly. He met Keith's eyes. "Oh, just getting out, seeing the sights. I used to come here, but then life got busy. Now that things are settling down, I think it's good to get back out a bit. So, since you already know what I do for a living, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?"

Keith sipped his multi-colored drink, watching Preston over the lip of his glass. He set the drink down dabbed a napkin across his full lips.

"Me? Well, I finished my MBA in Economics last semester. I have a job working at the college library in the IT department. I've applied to a few investment firms. I'm hoping to get into the field as an investment banker. Stiff competition." He shrugged, then blushed unexpectedly.

Preston noticed. "What was that for?"

Keith raised his eyes, cheeks still flushed. "You're a good looking guy. I always blush when I talk to the handsome ones." He ran a hand over his face. "You probably think I'm making a fool of myself."

Preston shook his head. "No, no. Not at all. It's…" he paused, trying to think of the right word. _Cute_ was the first word that came to mind; that wouldn't do. Not at this point at least. Preston wasn't sure where he wanted things to go. He wasn't in a rush for anything to go anywhere. "… Don't be embarrassed."

Keith only reddened further.

They talked, then. Preston found Keith easy to chat with. He found himself talking in a very abridged version about his trip down to Providence, how it felt great to get back on the dance floor, but none of the clubs in Plateau were quite his thing. He also expressed his concerns over public perception, how as a CEO he didn't feel like all of the city speculating on his sexuality.

"I don't think anyone would care," Keith admitted.

Preston gave a soft snort. "I'm not ready for that either way."

Keith ordered them another round of drinks, and rubbed his narrow hands together as if to warm them. "I think I know something that might be more your thing," Keith suggested. "You don't have to worry about anyone recognizing you. It's an underground club, discrete. Private. I can get you in though, if you'd like to go sometime."

"Music?" Preston asked.

"Dance, techno, jumpstyle. All DJs. Nothing label."

Preston nodded, thinking. "And attire?"

Keith grinned. "Pretty much anything you want. But be sure it's comfortable, because you're going to want to move." Keith gave Preston a sleepy blink. "I probably don't seem like the sort who would be into clubbing, but when you work over a desk all week, it's good to be able to unwind from time to time, get the body moving, forget about the daily grind for a while."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Preston agreed.

"So here," Keith said, jotting a number on a napkin. "Call me, text, whatever. Let me know if you want to go next weekend. I'll tell you where to meet me, and hook you up."

Preston slipped Keith's number into his pocket. "Thank you."

"Any time, 'Mister Tucci,'" Keith laughed. "God, maybe it's just the rum talking, but I can't believe I'm talking to you right now. It's nice, real nice."

Preston felt his face warm, though whether it was from the alcohol or Keith's words he wasn't sure.

"I'm glad. I'm enjoying it too." Preston stood up at gave Keith's shoulder a squeeze.

"You'll call me?" Keith asked.

Preston nodded. "That place you mentioned? It sounds like fun. Unless something comes up that I can't get out of, consider it a yes."

He let go of Keith's shoulder, gave the man a handshake, and made his way back through the patrons to the door. He zipped up his jacket against the night wind, and glanced at his watch. It wasn't even eleven yet. It felt later than that. _Must be the dark_ , Preston thought as he caught his ride back up town. He wondered briefly if Antoine was still awake. Probably not, Preston concluded. He decided he'd sleep in his own room that night.

* * *

 **Now.**

Antoine hadn't met Preston's eyes as the younger man dressed and got ready. Keith told him the party didn't really start until after ten, but Preston needed to leave early. He was driving over the south end of town, where he'd meet Keith. From there, he'd follow Keith.

The man had discretely explained he couldn't give away the address, but he could let Preston follow him over. _Or we can both take my car_ , Keith added.

Preston suggested they play it by ear.

Preston wasn't entirely sure what to wear. He opted for a slim fit grey tee-shirt and a pair of black jeans. As an added thought, he pulled his black Polo windbreaker out of the closet and slipped it on. The effect was slim, casual, but still within his comfort zone.

Through the whole process, Antoine said nothing, merely watched.

Preston put on an inexpensive watch and tightened the band. "I'll be back. I don't plan to stay out that late," he called from his bedroom. "I'll be back," he repeated.

Antoine, sitting in the living room gave a grunt of acknowledgement.

Preston walked through the dining room, grabbing his keys out of the bowl on the dresser as he went. He was halfway out the door when he heard Antoine say something. Preston turned, looking over his shoulder. "What was that, Antoine?"

"I said have fun, be safe," came the flat reply.

They both knew what Antoine hadn't said: _Please don't hook up with anyone_. It wasn't a topic either man wanted to discuss.

Preston flipped through the radio stations as he drove, before finally settling on 99.5FM; a station known in the Capital District as "The River." It played a mix of pop from the most recent decades. Preston felt a flutter in his chest, excitement, or perhaps anxiety. Maybe a little of both. Eager anticipation to be sure.

He wasn't sure where things were heading with Keith, if they were heading anywhere at all.

Preston was the quiet sort. He wasn't one for complex emotional relationships, but he'd had his share of casual encounters in the past. That wouldn't be happening tonight, he knew. Not without being honest with Antoine first. Antoine's approach seemed all backwards to Preston. In his own words, Antoine (wasn't interested in relationships!) had to know pretty much everything about a person before he could even consider having anything more with another person.

 _Well_ , Preston mused, _he knows me better than anyone, and but yet he still doesn't…_ Preston sighed. No sense in thinking of that. Antoine had also described himself as hetero. _Really, I should just take the hint_ , Preston thought.

Preston drummed his hands on the steering wheel in time to the beat. His mind still wasn't ready to let thoughts of Antoine go quite yet. He wondered what sort of relationships Antoine had even had in the past. Quite possibly none. Granted, Preston had never asked Antoine about his housemate's past relationships, but that was a question Preston wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to. _That, and_ , he reasoned, _if I ask him, that gives him the right to turn around and ask me the same question. He wouldn't like my answers either_. Some things weren't necessary to talk about. Really, it was none of Antoine's business anyhow.

There was a parkinglot up ahead, a lone car idling in the space. Preston drove up and pulled in next to Keith. He met Keith between the cars and the two men shook hands.

The first thing Preston noticed was that Keith's handshake had not improved.

The second was Keith's attire. The man wore a form-fitting hooded tank top under his jacket: black but lined with turquoise edging; and a pair of wide-legged jeans. A quick glance into the passenger side of his car revealed a leather collar with a leash-ring, a box of glowsticks, and a pair of arm-warmers.

Preston raised his eyebrows.

Keith gave a faint smirk. "I know, right?" He reached up and ran a hand along Preston's arm. "You look nice. Casual, comfortable." Keith nodded his head. He didn't remove his hand.

Preston smiled down at Keith. "Thank you," he said glibly. Smooth as always, Preston thought. Beside Keith, he felt confident and in control. The fact he was nearly six inches taller than Keith didn't hurt. The young man was probably five-foot-six. Preston's lanky frame could top six feet, though he usually hunched his shoulders. Especially after The Incident. Preston's thin form had gotten used to curling in on itself.

Something about standing next to Keith made Preston feel the urge to stand as straight as he could; the way he used to carry himself.

Keith ran his hand up and down Preston's arm. "So, are you going to follow me over, or do you want to ride with me?"

Preston nodded regally towards his car. "That seems like a rather premature invite. I'll take my car. For now."

"Absolutely," Keith replied. "I'll make sure you can keep up." He swung himself into his car. Preston climbed into the driver's seat of his Cadillac, fastened his seatbelt, and gave Keith a thumbs up.

He followed Keith through several roads down towards the warehouse districts. It was an area Preston rarely went. Cross-docks, massive cargo containers, shipping yards. Keith killed the lights to his car and cruised to a stop between a row of high stacked shipping cubes. Preston did likewise. "Is it safe to leave the cars here?" Preston asked, glancing back at his beloved CT6. Somewhere in the distance Preston heard the steady low pulse of a bass.

"Absolutely, but you'll probably want to leave your coat here." Keith replied, tossing his jacket into his car. "It gets pretty hot in there."

He fastened the collar around his neck. Preston noticed there was a tag circular dog dangling from the leash ring. It looked to him like a Yin Yang, but with three sections instead of two. He was going to ask Keith about it when a figure emerged out of the shadows. Reflexively, Preston took a step back.

"You know what this is?" the man asked, voice gruff.

Keith shouldered the box of glow sticks and nodded. "Walt sent me," he replied. "Sent this one too."

The bouncer, or security, or whatever he was rumbled something asked for ID which both men provided. Satisfied, he stepped aside.

"We keep this stuff pretty underground," Keith explained, catching Preston's perplexed expression. He led Preston to a warehouse at the end of the yard. There he passed between two bouncers. One a small but wiry man, the other a woman who looked like the probably wrestled bears in her spare time.

The noise was already near deafening from the outside. Preston noticed Keith had pulled out a pair of ear plugs. He offered a second set, which Preston gratefully accepted. With that, and a wide grin, Keith opened the door. Music hit Preston like a physical force. Keith grinned like a fox, grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.

Preston couldn't even begin to get a sense of the space. It was dark, except for the lights mounted along the walls and ceiling flashing down in time with the music and the illumination other people wore. Keith whirled around, glowstick clenched between his teeth. He dragged Preston forward, deeper into the middle of the room. Preston wondered vaguely where that box of glowsticks had gone.

The room was foggy, and at one end the DJs stood, presiding over the scene like rulers of the world. One of them, a full figured woman raised her hand, bellowing through her headmic in time to the beat. "Shout to all my happy people! Deejay Sliachu! Troy City! Represent yo all tonight." She gestured with both arms wide to the man next to her.

"In the beginning, there was house music. Then the great DJ said 'Let this house be progressive!'"

If it had been loud before, it was overpowering now. Preston could barely make out Keith's figure through the pulsating mass of humanity. He had been to dance clubs before, but nothing as intense as this. Time melted away. Bodies moved around him like smoke over water. It was easy to lose himself in the moment. Looking up, he realized Keith was nowhere in sight. A figure with an LED gas mask was standing in front of him, making some odd beckoning motion. Preston moved backwards, trying to put a few people between him and the gas man.

Preston felt a surge of anxiety. He stood up on his tiptoes, looking over the bouncing heads around him. In the corner, beneath one of the cannon lights a person with a horsehead mask had grabbed another figure. Preston didn't need to be gay to know what he was seeing.

 _Keith_ , Preston yelled, but he couldn't even hear his own voice. Bodies, hot and sweaty closed around him. Suddenly, things didn't seem so harmless. There was a sea of faces, masks, unrecognizable figures. No one even noticed him. _Keith!_ , Preston screamed again.

He spun about, looking for an exit. He saw nothing. He was in a black world of sound, bass powerful enough to knock the air from his lungs. Deejay Sliachu was dropping a chant, throwing her arm down with each beat. Was the DJs' stage across from the door they'd come in? Preston couldn't even remember anymore. Everything was a blur…

* * *

Preston pulled his car into the garage of the ranch house he and Antoine shared near the edge of the city. Never had the pine barrens behind their house seemed so peaceful and welcoming. Preston staggered in through the laundry room that connected the garage with the rest of the house. He dropped his jacket on the table and was going to head to his room when a lamp beside the couch clicked on.

Antoine was sitting there, arms across his chest, expression dark. "It's four thirty in the morning."

"I said I'd be back late."

Antoine's scowl darkened. "Technically, if you ever came back at all you'd be 'back late.'"

Preston hung his head. "I don't want to argue with you right now." He sat down at the bar and began pulling off his shoes.

"Hey, Prep…" Antoine asked, voice tinged with concern, "you okay? C'mere. Sit down."

Preston hauled himself over and dropped onto the couch in the corner across from Antoine.

Antoine slid himself over and looked into Preston's face, blue eyes scanning him head to toe. "Dang, Preppy. You don't look like you went dancing. You look like you got hit by a party bus, then it decided to back up and run over you a few times for good measure. Seriously, are you okay?" He reached out a hand and ruffled Preston's short hair affectionately. He moved his fingers in the familiar soothing way for a moment, then recoiled.

"Preston, what the _hell_ is in your hair?" he asked, regarding his hand with revulsion.

"Glow stick juice. Some guy was biting the tops off glowsticks and slinging them around. I got caught in the spray. It's mostly stopped glowing, I hope."

Antoine rubbed his fingers together. "Yeah… mostly."

Preston pushed himself up. "I'm exhausted. I'm going to go to bed Antoine."

"Are you taking a shower first?"

"No. Too tired."

Antoine shook his head. "Nah! Nuh-uh. You are not going to bed with that crap in your hair."

Preston shrugged. "Fine. I'll sleep in my room."

"Those are still my pillowcases," Antoine replied gruffly. He pushed himself up and put an arm around Preston's shoulder. "C'mon. I'll wash your hair in the sink."

Preston leaned into Antoine's familiar grasp. "You don't mind?"

"I've done it myself once or twice. Go pull that chair over," he said gesturing to one of the kitchen chairs. "I'll go get the shampoo and towels."

It took Antoine no time to set everything up. He rolled a towel into a tube and slid it under Preston's neck while he adjusted the water temperature. "Is that okay?"

"Prefect," Preston replied, feeling the warm liquid wash over his head. He watched Antoine squirt some shampoo into his palm and rub his hands together.

"Yeah… I pay attention to what you like," Antoine replied. "So, how bad was it?"

Preston closed his eyes, remembering. "It was fun at first, but then I realized I was in over my head. I couldn't find Keith anywhere, and there was no use even trying to yell for him. Let's see, what else?" Preston felt the tension melting away as Antoine's thick hands expertly massaged his scalp. "Well, there was this person in a horse head mask having sex with someone in a corner."

"Eww!"

Preston nodded slightly. "I think that's when I started realizing this wasn't the place for me. And then, while I was looking for Keith some guy, or maybe it was a girl I don't even know, comes up. She grabs me by the collar and starts kissing me, except then I realize she's trying to slip a pill into my mouth. I pushed her away. I don't know where the pill went. All I know is I didn't swallow it. I tried to find Keith to tell him I want to leave, but it was hopeless. I realized had gotten near an Exit so I let myself out, went to the car, texted Keith and came home."

Preston shuddered at the memory. "It was… uncomfortable to say the least. That thing with the pill, I felt…" he struggled for words. "I felt violated. Someone was invading my space and trying to take advantage of me. I have no idea was even in that pill, but I knew it wasn't a TicTac." Preston opened his eyes for a moment and looked up at Antoine before closing them again.

Antoine reached for the sprayer. He held it close to Preston's hair, cupping his free hand around the side of Preston's head to keep water from Preston's ears.

"That's scary."

"I know," Preston replied. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

Antoine's scent filled his nostrils. He felt Antoine lean over him. He could feel Antoine's breath, soft and cool against his cheek, then, ever so gently, the brush of Antoine's beard. Cool lips lightly touched his cheek, and lingered for a moment.

Preston debated turning his face to meet Antoine's but before he could thing further Antoine withdrew himself; and the moment was passed. A fluffy towel dropped onto his chest.

"I'll let you sit yourself up," Antoine announced, pulling the rolled towel out from under Preston's neck and wrapping it around his head. Preston pushed himself upright as Antoine massaged his hair with the second towel.

"Why did I need two?" Preston asked, looking at the towel in his lap.

"Gotta be prepared, you know?" Antoine replied, not breaking the motion.

Preston leaned forward and put his knees on his elbows.

Antoine slid around him, continued drying his hair.

"You know, Preppy, I'm glad you're okay. You don't want to fool around with club drugs, or any drugs for that matter. I worry about you, and I don't like worrying about anyone." He offered a hand, and Preston took it. Antoine pulled Preston to his feet. "I'd say I hate it when I worry about you, but I don't because I like looking out for you. I just don't like it when you do things that makes me extra-worry. That's not okay."

Antoine reached out an arm, and Preston collapsed into them. Antoine half-led, half-carried Preston to the bed room and laid out his sleepwear. Preston smiled weakly, grateful for the small kindness. He changed without a hint of reservation, then slid between the covers. Moments later, Antoine flopped down next to him.

A strong arm was around Preston's shoulder, pulling him close. Preston packed his back up against Antoine's chest, feeling the familiar weight of Antoine's bare arm around his body. "I wish you wouldn't leave," Antoine whispered against Preston's back.

"I'm not leaving."

"You might. Please don't?" Antoine's voice sounded oddly small, forlorn. His words stabbed into Preston's heart.

Preston wrapped his hand over Antoine's wrist. He realized he had no idea what to say. He knew what Antoine wanted to hear, he wasn't sure those words could be said yet. What had he, Preston Tucci always wanted when he thought of Antoine? _Meet my family, be with me, love me…_ Yes, those were the words. Could he truly be happy with two out of three? Was there some way he could make his relationship with Antoine work despite the odds against it?

Five in the morning on a sleepless night was not the time to make life changing decisions. Preston tightened his grip on Antoine's wrist. _I don't want to lose this_ , he thought silently. With that, he let go, and surrendered to sleep.


	8. Untitled 1

Antoine Radson stared at the ceiling, dimly lit from the small LED of the powerstrip by the television. Next to him his housemate, Preston, was fast asleep, lying on his side with his hands tucked under his head. His back was towards Antoine.

Antoine muttered a profanity and put his hands over his face. Three AM was the devil's hour to be sure; a time between midnight and morning where every little thing that worried him seemed thrown into stark relief. He glanced at Preston, a shadow against the darker shadow if the room. Antoine found himself envying Preston's ability to fall, and stay asleep. True, it might've been a product of the Xanax he took in the evening, Antoine reasoned, but still. Some sleep. Drug-induced or not would be nice.

Lately, Antoine hadn't been able to calm his mind. It seemed like there were too many thoughts. During the day, at work, he could keep himself distracted. At night, if he stayed asleep he was fine.

But if he woke up during the night, especially around three AM, he knew the odds of a restful sleep were slim to none.

Antoine rolled on his side. _You're lucky, Preppy_ , he thought as he tried to find a comfortable position to put his arms. _You can sleep through the night._

Out of all the things that weighed on Antoine's mind, one stood out above all the rest: the fear of losing Preston's companionship. Antoine knew how he felt for his housemate: he loved the man. It was as simple (and as complicated) as that. He found himself thinking of all the times he hadn't measured up. He willed his three AM brain to be silent. _Where do I even stand?_ Antoine wondered.

He was more familiar with Preston than he'd ever been with anyone before. From the sound of Preston's voice to the colour in his eyes, to his very scent! Antoine knew the little details of Preston's nature, his quirks that made him both endearing and perplexing. Preston and his feelings. He had a level of emotional complexity it seemed, something Antoine figured he'd never completely decode.

One thing though, Antoine knew for sure. Preston wasn't like him. Preston couldn't be content to simply sleep next to someone every night. Preston was a physical creature, normal! And he, Antoine? Well, normal wasn't one of the top adjectives Antoine would chose to describe himself with.

Antoine reached out and traced a finger along Preston's shoulder; still thin, but not as boney as it once was. The man was finally starting to put some meat on his frame. Not much, but every ounce was a step forward. He'd lost too much weight, Antoine thought. He'd gone from slender to thin, to downright gaunt after The Incident. It was good to see him filling out.

Unlike Antoine, who slept topless and wore a pair of cotton pajama pants, Preston slept in his briefs and a tee shirt. Antoine afforded himself a half chuckle as he drew a line down Preston's side. It was like yin and yang, their dynamic. Right down to how they chose layers to sleep in. Preston's top covered, Antoine's legs. _If you mixed things up you'd have a naked guy and a prude_ , Antoine chuckled.

Actually, wasn't that how things had started out? Before Preston moved in, Antoine often slept in the nude. Preston had initially covered himself head to toe in flannel sleepwear.

 _Eh, that's compromise for you_ , Antoine decided. One never really knew it was happening until one day one realized it already had.

He put his palm flat on Preston's waist, feeling the jut of Preston's hip-bones too prominent for his liking. Better, yes, but still a bit thin. Antoine tried to shut the narrative in his mind and tried to meditate on the sensation of Preston's body. Here a curve, there a dip. Muscle, bones, soft skin...

He pushed himself up into a half-sitting position and ran a hand down Preston's leg, feeling the soft hair of along Preston's calves. Preston wasn't a particularly "furry" man. Not "fur-less" (that would be weird), but the hair along his limbs and chest was like down compared to Antoine's blond pelt.

 _I'm probably Nordic heritage_ , Antoine had explained to Preston once with a shrug. _Doesn't show much, but excellent insulation for winter. That, and this_ , he added, patting his stomach approvingly. _Oh and strong! I'm a beast, look!_ he flexed his arms, hoping Preston noticed. Preston had merely rolled his eyes, but it was enough reward for Antoine.

Antoine regarded the sleeping form thoughtfully. Could he ever be closer than this – physically – than were they were right now? Antoine wasn't sure. He'd never really felt a desire for anything with anyone. Sure, he'd gone on a date with women here and there, held hands, kissed… but it didn't _do_ anything for him. Not in _that_ way, anyhow. Antoine didn't feel any urge to do anything with a woman, or a man for that matter.

Therein lay the crux of the matter. Preston was a physical, _sexual_ being… and he, Antoine, was not.

 _Leave it to me to fall for someone with a libdo_ , Antoine thought, giving a snort at the irony of his statement.

"Eh, dammit," he muttered. He sat up and tapped Preston in the shoulder. "Hey."

Preston stretched, but didn't open his eyes.

Antoine gave him a less gentle shove. "Wake up, Preppy, I gotta tell you something."

Preston groaned, and raised his head slightly, glancing back at Antoine. "Nnngh, what?" he asked thickly.

"That time in Florida, at my place by the beach, that night… the one where you thought I'd drank too much wine but I hadn't? Yeah, well, I figured I should tell you. That's the furthest I've ever gone with _anybody_ ; with you. So, something to keep in the back of your mind, okay? Well, g'night Prep."

Without waiting for a reply, Antoine settled back down and rolled over so his back was against Preston's. He curled his arms around a spare pillow, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Preston Tucci woke up slightly before his alarm was scheduled to go off. He yawned, stretched, and reached for his glasses on the nightstand. He glanced over at Antoine on the bed next to him. His blue-haired housemate was lying spread-eagled on his back.

Something tickled Preston's memory. He wasn't sure if it was a dream or not: Antoine confessing their brief encounter was the most intimate experience he'd every shared? It felt real, didn't have that strange "shimmery" quality to it that most dream-memories had.

Preston stared at Antoine, sprawled out like a starfish; taking up at least half the bed.

Did you really tell me that? I'm the closest thing to a first you've ever had?

Preston bit his lip, resisted the urge to wake Antoine and ask if that happened. He disabled the alarm on his phone, and swung his long legs over the side of the bed. It was a question he wasn't going to ask. After all, which would be the more terrifying answer? Antoine stating that it had all just been Preston's dream… or Antoine confessing that yes, it was all true.

Preston knew he wasn't ready for the weight of either truth.

He quietly grabbed his clothes, and tip-toed off to the shower. Sometimes, not-knowing was the best choice.


	9. New Year's Eve

Preston Tucci leaned on the low guard wall and regarded the view. The weather was cold, but not unbearable. Between his turtleneck sweater and wool overcoat, he was surprisingly comfortable. Below him the world spread out, river to the east, city to the south. Train station below, Interstate 87 to the west. He could see down to the city heart and Monument Park from his vantage point. In the far south, the lights of NYC shone against the black ribbon that was the Hudson. "I've never been up here before," he observed quietly.

Antoine rummaged through his canvas rucksack. "I figured as much," he replied, the smile evident in his voice. He set out two boxes, one slightly larger than the other, both cushioned in a towel. He deftly unwrapped both, his back deliberately blocking Preston's view. "I mean, let's face it Prep, wandering around on the roof of a nuclear plant was more Dimas' thing than yours. But it's your plant now, so, yeah."

Preston glanced down at Antoine. "Do you have to mention him?"

Antoine shrugged, not turning around. "Many years ago, we got in late from a flight down to Maryland. I was putting the chopper away and he said he didn't feel like going home yet. Dimas takes me up here. I remember his words like it was yesterday." Antoine stood up and sidled over to Preston, gesturing grandly. "'Look at that view, Radson! That's a million dollar view right there. Won't get a better one in this entire city!'"

Antoine fell quiet and let his arm drape around Preston's shoulders. "He was right, you know. Best damn view in all of Plateau, earthbound, that is." He chuckled and gave Preston a squeeze before turning his attention back to his rucksack.

Preston pivoted to watch him, and pressed his backside against the railing. "What _are_ you doing, Antoine?"

The blue-haired man winked. "Well, it is New Year's Eve, right? And you did say something about wanting to see the fireworks, as I recall."

"We can see them from up here?"

Antoine gave Preston a look of mock annoyance.

Preston blushed. "Right. Never mind, stupid question. I'd thought we'd be going downtown."

"That place'll be a zoo, Preppy, and you know it." Antoine stood up, a bottle covered with a towel. He placed his hand over the cork and slowly began working it free.

"You brought champagne!" Preston noted with surprise.

Antoine smirked. "Of course. It's nothing fancy," he added, catching the cork gently in the towel and setting the bottle on the ground by his rucksack. "But I hope you like it."

Preston folded his hands over his stomach, watching Antoine, feeling a warmth spread through his body despite the cold. Just looking at Antoine could make him happy. Antoine's face, his body, even his blue hair, the way he moved with a surprising grace despite his 'festively plump' frame… Preston realized he was staring, and turned back to the view of their city. He heard the clink of glasses, the sound of champagne being poured. A glass flute was slid into his hand.

"Happy New Year, Preppy," Antoine murmured, leaning his shoulder against Preston. "Cheers."

"Cheers, Antoine."

The glasses clinked.

Preston took a sip of the champagne. It was good, not overly sweet, but with a nice fruity note to it. Considering how easy it was to pick a bad champagne, he was impressed. "What is this?"

Antoine raised his eyebrows. "Do you know about champagne?"

"No, not really," Preston admitted, shaking his head.

"Then the name doesn't matter," Antoine replied. He pressed his body closer to Preston, perhaps to stave off the damp chill. Unlike Preston, Antoine wore a simple maroon coat over a white long-sleeved shirt. The cold never did seem to bother him the same as it did Preston. "Look," Antoine said, gesturing with his wineglass. "The fireworks are about to start."

Down below, a large section of Monument Park had been blocked off. Every year the display took place downtown, explosions timed to music that played on the local radio station, and on speakers hung around the central plaza. Preston had expressed his desire to watch the show; Antoine hemmed and hawed, and said he didn't feel like being surrounded by that many strangers on New Year's Eve. _I want to spend it with you_ , he confessed.

Preston had tried not to let his disappointment show. Not that he was sad to spend the holiday with Antoine, but he'd hoped for more than merely sitting at home watching some ball drop on the television. When Antoine had suddenly stood up around 10:30 that night and announced they were going out, Preston thought he meant downtown.

When Antoine drove them to the nuclear plant, Preston's confusion only deepened. It wasn't until they were making their way up several flights of stairs in a utility stairwell did it really sink in. Preston had never been to the roof of the administration complex. Never even considered it, actually. Unlike his predecessor, Preston tended to stay only in the areas that his job required him to frequent; or occasionally when he had to inspect some of the vital areas.

Roving about the nuclear plant without a specific, work-related purpose wasn't something that crossed his mind.

He took a sip of his champagne and waged a private war about whether or not to put his arm about Antoine. It wasn't that they hadn't stood like that before, or even held hands on occasion, but things had been different between them lately. Not bad, but a bit more distant than they had when he'd first moved in. He'd taken to sleeping in Antoine's room again though, most nights at least. This time it hadn't been his idea. Antoine had asked him to. _I miss having someone to put my arms around, Prep. I don't sleep so good without you._ It seemed odd to think of Antoine having trouble sleeping. He seemed like a man who could sleep well anywhere. Apparently, that was not so.

Antoine was staring out over the ledge, looking down at his watch, expression unreadable. "You know," Antoine observed, raising his glass but not looking up. "They say if you kiss someone at midnight on New Year's, you'll be with that person all next year."

Preston smiled tiredly, an upturn of his mouth, but his eyes remained unchanged. "Antoine, please. We both know you're not gay."

Antoine was counting down on his fingers. "That might be," he confessed. "But I never said I didn't love you, and I never said I wouldn't kiss you." He raised his head. "So, how 'bout it? Another year together for us?"

Preston was so focused on Antoine's face that he didn't even know the display and new year had started till a wash of red-gold light poured over their quiet perch. A glittering fiery chrysanthemum, orange against the night sky. Antoine slid a hand around Preston's neck and pulled his face down. Preston didn't resist. Antoine's course palm against his skin, he let his free hand trail over Antoine's cheek as their lips met.

Preston was intimately aware of the texture of Antoine's beard, pleasantly rough against his own smooth skin. He paused, debating whether to step back, but it seemed that would not be the case. The two men kissed again, then Antoine pulled back, grinning and chuckling slightly. He licked his lips, looked uncertain of what to do next, eyes never leaving Preston's.

Preston decided right there that Antoine looked adorable when he was caught awkward and off-guard. He reached out a hand and ran his fingers over Antoine's arm. "Hey," he began, "thanks. That was sweet of you. Not just the champagne," he added. "All of this."

Antoine smiled, eyes and lips crinkling at the edges, the familiar crease of smile lines. He looked at Preston's hand, and blushed. "It wasn't anything, really, I just thought you might like it." He rested his head on Preston's shoulder and gave a purring sort of sigh. Preston trailed a finger through Antoine's silky mane, smiling. "Maybe I'm just gay for you," Antoine muttered into Preston's arm, almost inaudible.

Coming from anyone else, it would've been an odd statement, perhaps even rather insulting! But from Antoine? It was probably one of the most heartfelt things Preston had ever heard. He didn't know how to respond. He merely pulled Antoine close, felt Antoine's strong arm around his waist. Champagne in one hand, his best friend in the other, Preston stood tall and watched the world explode beautifully around them.


	10. Vacation with Preston's Parents

**Day 1 - Departure**

Preston Tucci drove confidently through the streets of Boston, a warren of tunnels and overpasses that left his housemate and best friend, Antoine Radson quite thoroughly disorientated.

Music, Italian opera without vocals filled interior of Preston's Cadillac CT6. "Puccini Without Words," the album was called. Combine that with the soothing heat of his seat warmer, and Antoine found himself struggling to stay awake. It had been a late night for both of them, but for once Preston seemed the more alert of the two.

As Preston drove, he quizzed Antoine, trying to keep his housemate focused. "My mother's name?"

"Janet," Antoine replied, looking out the window as they slowly emerged from yet another tunnel, to a stringed crescendo.

"And my father?"

"Alfred."

Preston shook his head. "You're still saying it wrong. It's pronounced 'ALL-fred,' not 'ale-FURD' like you keep doing. He's very particularly about his name. Try it again, _Alfred_."

Antoine folded his arms across his stomach. "This is a bad idea, Prep," he said with a grumble. "I'm not cut out for stuff like this. And you didn't even let me dye my hair."

The thin man behind the wheel sighed as he pulled into the secure parking garage by the pier. He turned off the engine and leaned over the steering wheel, regarding his blue-haired housemate from tip to toe. Antoine's hair was just about shoulder-length now, a shade of pool-blue aqua. His beard and eyebrows were dyed to match. Antoine's tanned face was creased with worry, his Nordic blue eyes awash in trepidation.

Preston reached out and took Antoine's course palm in his own smooth one. "I've spent the past three decades trying to not be myself in order to please my parents. I'm not going to have you start doing the same thing. Dying your hair black, just so they won't see your natural teal? I'm not having you do that for them."

Antoine gave Preston's hand a squeeze.

"Now let's go and make the best of this, right? It's a cruise to the Bahamas. That should be right up your alley."

Antoine chuckled as he got out of the car. "I dunno. I've always been more the vacation by myself, sleep on the beach type. Present company excluded of course," he added as he hauled their bags from the trunk. "I like taking vacations with you."

"Think of this as one of those then," Preston replied, wrapping a burgundy scarf around his neck. "You're going on a cruise with me, and my parents just happened to be on the same boat."

Antoine crammed his black knitcap down over his eyes and eyebrows. He stared dolefully at Preston. "How can you be so relaxed about this?"

Preston gave dismissive flick of his wrist. "Because I'm finally learning I don't have to live my life to please them."

Antoine gave a snort. "So why are we here then? You could've said 'no thank you' to their offer."

"Because," Preston replied, grabbing the handle of his rolling suitcase, "we have to get to know each other as adults sooner or later."

Antoine swung his duffle bag and their shared garment bag over his shoulder. "That, and your parents probably wouldn't have accepted 'no' for an answer," he muttered with dry humor.

Preston ran a hand over Antoine's shoulder, let it linger for just a second too long for it to be purely friendly gesture. "Well, there is probably that too," he confessed with a laugh. "They were quite insistent, buying tickets and reserving a separate cabin for us. At that point, you're right, 'no,' wouldn't have been the right answer."

"Well, I guess it can't be that bad," Antoine relented. "All-expense-paid vacay to the Caribbean with my bestie? I guess I shouldn't worry too much. I've never been on a cruise before though."

"It's a big boat," Preston added. "You won't be spending all your time with them. There'll be plenty of ways to keep yourself busy." They crossed the street, towards the long white building that dominated the pier. Once beyond the crowd, Preston scanned for two familiar faces. Two that would stand out above the rest. It didn't take him long to spot them.

Antoine Radson hung back as Preston met his parents by the terminal. He watched Preston and his mother embrace quickly, formally, a kiss on each cheek. Then Preston shook hands with his father. Antoine realized Preston didn't seem so tall standing with his parents, nor did he seem so richly dressed. The whole Tucci clan was tall and lean; Alfred wearing dark-colored slacks and a matching blazer, Janet wearing a long skirt and suitcoat herself. Antoine felt both short, and underdressed. He stared down at his jean-clad legs, his worn in converse sneakers. He should've at least put on khakis… and dyed his hair…

Preston realized Antoine was lagging. He turned, made a beckoning motion to Antoine.

Antoine, feeling vaguely self-conscious, like a pack mule for taking most of their luggage, swallowed down his anxiety. _I'm a natural, I'm unique, and the camera loves me_ , he thought to himself as he made his way over to the tall family. Preston seemed to sense his housemate's discomfort. He detached himself from his parents and met up with Antoine, grabbing the garment bag from Antoine's shoulders.

"It'll be okay," he whispered, given Antoine a friendly tap with his elbow. "Just think of the beaches," Preston added with a wink.

Antoine drew himself up before Preston's parents, ever so glad his housemate was at his side. He'd met Preston's parents before over dinner once, but he hadn't particularly felt part of the conversation. Alfred and Janet alternatively talked to him, and sometimes about him, as if he had been a display more than guest. It hadn't been bad, but it hadn't been "real," either.

Preston's parents were stilted and controlled, white-collar, white hands. Alfred Tucci regarded Antoine coolly from beneath thick eyebrows. His hair had been black once, but was now streaked with grey and white, the classic "salt-and-pepper" look . He was an investment banker, Preston had explained. Antoine wasn't sure entirely what that entailed. But he could tell from the man's gold watch and expensive shoes that it was a job which paid well. As if one couldn't tell that from his condo alone, Antoine thought as he shook hands with the tall patriarch.

Janet Tucci had the same august bearing as her husband. Her hair and eyes both were a platinum grey hue. She smiled at Antoine as he approached her, planting a single, formal kiss on his cheek. "We're glad you could make it, Antoine," she said as they shook hands.

Alfred Tucci glanced at his watch. "Well, we best get moving. I'll have the bags handled, and meet you at the terminal." He gestured to the trolley next to them.

Antoine passed off his dufflebag to the trolley, setting it beside Preston's suitcase and garment bag, next to the Tuccis' luggage. Alfred extended an arm to his wife, who took it. He steered the trolly towards the concierge service.

"What are you so nervous about?" Preston asked, tilting his face towards Antoine. "You weren't this anxious when we went to meet them last time."

"That didn't involve them paying a lot of money to bring me along," Antoine replied. "And, I'm always nervous meeting new families. It's… yeah, something I have memories and hang-ups about."

Preston gave Antoine yet another reassuring pat on the back. Antoine was glad he didn't need to explain further. Growing up in the foster care system, this entire arrangement with Preston's parents made him feel like a small child again: an already established family, then him coming into the middle of aching to belong, and yet trying not to make waves. Hoping desperately his new family could work out, but not honestly believing it would. Something about traveling with Preston's parents was causing old insecurities to resurface. He shook himself like a dog, trying to rid itself of water.

"What was that?" Preston asked, laughing.

"Goose stepped on my grave?" Antoine offered. "I don't know. Let's find a spot to sit and wait for your folks, okay?"

Antoine had relaxed considerably once they finally got underway. Preston was glad of that. He couldn't remember ever having seen his housemate so uncertain before. As the white buildings faded into the distance, Antoine relaxed considerably. They steamed south, making good time across the grey Atlantic. After a casual buffet dinner, Preston found Antoine standing on the private balcony of their cabin. As usual, Antoine seemed oblivious to the cool air. His was face turned into the salt breeze, hair fluttering about his ears. "Nice they at least got us a room with one bed," he remarked as Preston joined him.

"I thought that might bother you."

"Nah," Antoine replied, as he dropped into a deck chair. "I sleep better next to you. You're comfortable, you know?" he added, as he reached up and grabbed Preston around the waist.

The thin man squirmed in protest, as Antoine hauled him roughly onto his lap. "Oh, sit a minute," Antoine laughed, resting his chin on Preston's shoulder. "You're going to catch a chill out here like that anyhow. I'll keep ya warm. I'm insulated, remember."

Preston propped himself up and wrapped an arm around Antoine's neck. "You do know, Insulation only keeps the wearer warm, right?"

Antoine ruffled Preston's hair affectionately, messing up whatever styling Preston had attempted earlier. "Oh, so that's how it works," he replied, eyeing his familiar paunch with a hint of satisfaction.

Preston patted Antoine's belly, noting the way Antoine closed his eyes as he did. "Yep, I'm afraid so."

Antoine made a purring sound, but said nothing. Preston tucked himself awkwardly into Antoine's arms, feeling the soft rise and fall of Antoine's chest with each breath. It was not the most ergonomic position for Preston, but for the time being it was remarkably comfortable.

His moment of reflection was interrupted by a soft rapping. Preston shoved himself up, leaping off Antoine's lap. Antoine grunted and blinked in surprise.

"Mom," Preston yelped as he dusted himself off and tried to smooth down his hair. "I didn't see you there."

Janet tilted her head back towards the adjoining door between their two units. "I knocked, then I saw you out here. May I join you?" Preston noticed the two mugs of tea she held on a small tray.

Preston gestured to an empty deck chair, caught off guard. "Ah, yes! Of course, please have a seat."

Janet Tucci, her skirt and suit exchanged for a pair of slim pants and a sweater sat down. She set the tray on a side table and sat down, crossing her legs at the ankle. "Ah," Janet breathed, looking out over the water. "It feels warmer already."

"Definitely not Boston weather," Antoine remarked as he stood up. "Here, Preston, you can have my chair. I'm going to finish unpacking, okay?" He gave Preston and Janet a half-salute, then padded inside, pulling the sliding glass door shut behind him.

"He seems nice," she remarked as she took a sip from the tea in her hands.

Preston sat down awkwardly, trying (and failing) to look relaxed. "Oh, yes. He is."

Janet passed him a mug of tea, which he took gratefully. It wasn't the herbal tea he typically drank. Black tea, with a splash of cream. Definitely more caffeine than he was used to, but it was hot, and right now that was all that mattered. He curled his long fingers around the white mug, savoring the warmth, wishing he'd worn a coat. He blew on it to cool it, then took a sip. Strong, sharp, but not bitter.

"So how are you two getting along," Janet asked.

Preston stared at his reflection in the mug, thinking. He'd talked with his parents periodically on the phone, but it was far different sitting next to his mother face to face. When was the last time they'd just chatted about anything? Preston racked his mind, he couldn't remember.

"We're doing well," he replied, guardedly, not sure what to say next. Preston knew the strained conversations that had followed Christmas dinner with his parents. His father hadn't said much on the topic, or about anything for that matter. The bulk of his last few conversations with his father over the phone could be summed up as a greeting, then the conversation ended in a question _: Would you like to talk to your mother?_

And even then, in talking to his mother, Preston wasn't sure what to say. She never missed the chance to tell him she loved him, but the depth and breadth of what they left unspoken could fill an ocean. Preston learned his mother had wanted grandchildren. Sometimes, their talks were calm. Other times, he could hear the strain in her voice, sounding just at the edge of tears. _I never knew she wanted grandkids_ , Preston remarked to Antoine one evening after a particularly taut conversation _. I didn't picture her for that type_.

 _People are full of surprises_ , Antoine had replied with a shrug as he flipped through the channels. Two hundred-something stations of nothing worth watching. _You're her only son, but she loves you. Give it time_.

Time, Preston mused as he sipped his tea and stole a sidelong glance at his mother. She was watching him, expression oddly similar: guarded yet hoping.

"Antoine's a good man," Preston said finally. "He's helped me through a lot." _More than you know_ , Preston added, thinking of exactly how much he'd never told his parents about the Incident at AlkaliStark, or his resultant injuries inside and out.

"I know we don't talk much," Janet hesitated. "I know your father and I haven't always been easy on you."

Preston muffled a cough. That was an understatement to be sure.

"We wanted the best for you, truly. We still do," she added quickly. "Perhaps in that, we sacrificed getting to know you. I'd like to take the time to do that now, if it's not too late."

Raising his head, Preston regarded his mother quietly. She'd never spoken to him like this before. Not like he was her son, but like they were two adults. It was strange, oddly refreshing. Preston felt himself smile slightly. "I'd like that." He smiled.

* * *

 **Day 2 – Cruising**

Antoine and Preston ambled about the ship, becoming familiar with layout and amenities. The ship was larger than Antoine could've ever imagined. A centerline promenade ran from the aft of the ship up to the midline: a pedestrian mall with shops and various restaurants. At the midline, it ended in "the art district", for lack of better word in Antoine's mind. There was a dance club on the lower level, a theatre, and the upper decks boasted a very swanky dining establishment.

There were, of course, the various sun decks and pools. A health club with fitness center and sauna. A movie theatre. Antoine was struck by the crowds. "It's like a floating city," he remarked as he leaned over a railing and looked down to the shopping levels below. There were even cabins that overlooked the promenade, though Antoine was ever so glad they had one with an ocean view.

At the end of the promenade was a terraced recreation deck featuring a glass-sided infinity pool, lounge chairs, and on the upper tiers, several rock-climbing walls. Antoine eagerly bounded over to the climbing walls, were, much to Preston's surprise he maneuvered his way up them with remarkable speed and agility.

"It's all about forearm strength," Antoine called down as he hung by one hand off an inclined ledge, grinning ear-to-ear. With that, he swung himself over to a new handhold and continued his climb.

Preston smiled, arms folded across and shook his head. "Deck ape!" he shouted back, wondering if Antoine even heard.

Dinner with Preston's parents was pleasant, but stilted. Antoine sat quietly, tending only to speak if spoken to. Janet made polite conversation with the blue-haired man. Alfred periodically looked at Antoine, but couldn't seem to manage sustained eye-contact. He resorted to speaking _of_ Antoine, rather than _to_ Antoine.

Both Antoine and Preston noticed this. Janet did her best to draw Antoine into their conversations.

By evening, the air had taken on a distinctive tropical smell. Hot breezes, carrying that muggy tropic air washed over the balcony where Antoine and Preston sat, enjoying the silence. They left the patio door open that night, choosing only the screen and curtains. Lulled by the soft wind and the deep thrum of the engines through the deck-plates, they slept; curled together in some human pretzel shape on the queen-sized mattress.

* * *

 **Day 3 – Port of Call: Orlando**

The Tucci Family plus one Radson met at the pier and caught a shuttle into Orlando. Antoine appeared much more his usual animated self, right back to his normal, vibrant attire. Wearing a pair of baggy cargo shorts, toe-shoes, and a Hawaiian shirt over a white tee, he was trying to stay calm but failing horribly. He kept rocking back and forth in his seat, drumming his feet impatiently on the floor. "It's like you've never been to Disney World," Alfred remarked with mild annoyance after Antoine inadvertently kicked his seat for the third time.

"I haven't," Antoine chirped back, oblivious to Alfred's tone. Antoine continued to fidget and turn in his seat, taking it all in as they drove nearly due west to the park. "Hey, look, there's a place called Disney's Saratoga Resort and Spa," he laughed. "I bet it doesn't look anything like home."

Janet and her son exchanged a look. Antoine's enthusiasm, while perhaps a bit over the top, was proving to be infectious. Despite Alfred's reticence, they returned to port hours later, exhausted but content.

"It's different going as an adult," Preston admitted as they made their way to their cabins. "It doesn't seem so hectic."

"Seemed plenty hectic to me," Alfred replied. It was hard to tell if he were joking of serious.

Antoine grinned and said nothing, a small plush "Stitch" toy tucked firmly under his arm. There would be enough time to shower and get changed before dinner. Unlike the night before, the plan was for an informal dinner at a burger-and-wing joint on the promenade

Antoine set the plush Stitch beside the TV and grinned proudly. "I love that movie," he said, doing a half-pivot in the air.

"Yeah, it was pretty cute," Preston agreed as he set out a pair of khaki shorts and a clean polo shirt that matched his sandals. Antoine glanced down at Preston's legs, smiling.

"I'm glad you like that," he remarked, pointing to the cowry shell anklet Preston wore.

Preston smiled as he slipped his teeshirt off and folded it on the bed next to him. "You know I always wear it." The anklet, a gift Antoine had given him after their first trip to Florida quite some time ago. Even at work, Preston wore it 'round his ankle, neatly tucked under his dress socks. It had become such a part of him he hardly paid attention to it anymore. Antoine still noticed though, clearly. Preston drew his leg across his lap and ran a finger over the small, white shells.

What's that Antoine had said they meant? Destiny, prosperity? He pulled the polo shirt on over his head and shrugged. Whatever they traditionally symbolized paled in comparison to the fact Antoine had given them to him.

* * *

 **Day 4 – Port of Call: Nassau, Bahamas.**

Antoine Radson brought up the rear as the small party made their way ashore, straightening his collared shirt as he went. On the ship, he dressed casual. When going ashore, he thought it best to mirror the garment choice of his hosts. It wasn't his typical attire.

Alfred Tucci slung his golf-clubs over his shoulder. "We can play the first nine before lunch, then follow up with the back nine and be back with plenty of time to spare," he remarked to Preston.

Preston's face looked less than thrilled. He glanced towards his mother. "Mom and I were thinking about going shopping today. They have some nice clothing stores ashore."

Alfred stiffened slightly, a faint scowl beginning to form. "Really," he said. It was not a question.

Preston shifted his weigh, but did not back down. He nodded. "Yes. We made plans."

"I see." Alfred's expression darkened further.

Antoine's eyes flicked from the young Tucci to the elder as if watching a tennis match. Though Alfred looked more annoyed than anything else, Antoine could see a faint shade of disappointment in his eyes as well. Antoine quickly reviewed his options.

"Hey, Mister Tucci, sir. I'll go golfing with you. I might be a little rusty, but it'll probably come back and honestly, I don't want to go shopping anyway." he glanced at Preston and Janet with an apologetic shrug.

"Suit yourself," Preston replied, throwing his light button-up over shirt around his shoulders.

With that, the group parted ways, Antoine loping silently along, following slightly behind Alfred as the tall man parted the crowds like Moses cutting through the Red Sea.

Their ferry ride to Paradise Island was quiet, uncomfortably so. Antoine kept stealing glances at Alfred, trying to get a read on the man. The older gentleman looked like Preston a bit, the same high forehead and creased brow, but his features were broader, more square. Unlike Preston, his eyes were dark brown, almost black. He was tall and austere, his features distinctly Italian.

"So… do you golf often?" Antoine asked, trying to break the silence.

"At some of the best courses around the world," Alfred replied back, not meeting Antoine's eyes.

"Ah," Antoine replied, and let his mind wander till they arrived at the course. Antoine watched as Alfred paid the green fees, the rental for Antoine's clubs, and for his shoes. They selected a cart, and the game began.

The course was a beautiful 18-hole field, a long course at over 7,000 yards. Antoine was glad he'd dressed up a bit as he read the dress code requirements. The entire eastern edge of Paradise Island was converted into one of the most beautiful courses Antoine had ever seen. Surrounded by turquoise oceans that matched his hair, the course was a lush, emerald green. Not so much as a blade of grass out of place. Several sapphire-hued water hazards dotted the course. Palm trees, golden sand traps, white sand beaches. Antoine let Alfred tee off first, then followed suit, making sure to duff his swing a bit. It would hardly do to out-drive Preston's father.

At each hole, Antoine held back, or tried to. At the ninth hole, a modest par four, Antoine inadvertently forgot to check himself. Pivoting easily as he swung, he drove the ball from the tee, straight down the center of the fairway, easily outdistancing Alfred's shot. Immediately, Antoine remembered himself. He held his driver in both hands and gave a submissive smile. "Lucky shot, eh?" he offered. "Those crosswinds must've helped."

Alfred reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. He gave the younger man a firm squeeze. "Antoine, your lies insult us both. Now stop the games, and start playing like a man." Though the tone was sharp, there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

If that's what you want, Antoine thought smugly, may the odds be ever in your favor!

By the twelfth hole competition was fierce, pride was on the line, and the friendly trash-talking had begun in earnest. By the fourteenth hole, the two men were playing for money, and Antoine was easily holding his own.

"Where did you learn to play like that?" Alfred asked on their ride back to the pier.

Antoine laughed and wiped his brow. "My old boss, Mister Dimas. I was his personal pilot so I flew him to business ventures around the east coast. Sometimes he had time off, and he was an avid golfer. Usually, if he was going with a group, I'd just caddy. When he couldn't find anyone else, he'd invite me along. He taught me. I haven't played in years, but it's like riding a bicycle: it's not something you forget." He grinned. "That, and I can be a bit competitive."

Alfred gave him a friendly shake. "You should teach that edge to my son!" Alfred laughed.

After Alfred stowed his golf clubs, he and Antoine meandered down to the bar, the one attached to the restaurant they'd agreed to meet at for dinner. There, Preston and Janet found the two men, laughing over drinks, and some mildly bawdy jokes.

Preston sat down at the table and regarded Antoine and his father jealously. "I've waited thirty years for him to joke with me like that," he huffed.

Janet made a clucking sound with her tongue. "It's good for your father to relax like that, and he appears to be taking a shine to Antoine."

"Yes, that's a good thing I suppose…" Preston's voice trailed off. "Wait! Mom, do you see that?"

Janet looked up.

Alfred Tucci had opened his wallet, and was counting out a handful of bills to a particularly smug looking Antoine. The blue-haired man pocketed the money, and the two men shook hands.

"It looks like your father was betting at golf again," Janet remarked over her wine.

Preston nodded. "Looks like Antoine won," he agreed with a snicker.

Deal done, the two men detached themselves from the bar, and went to meet their loved ones.

* * *

 **Day 5 and Day 6 – Port of Call: Augustifolia Cay. Starchild Cruiseline's private island.**

Perhaps it was the rain that afternoon, or maybe it was simply that everyone was getting over-tired. For whatever the reason a day that started out well wound up ending on quite a different note. Augustifolia Cay, a several hundred acre island, was privately owned by Starchild Enterprises, used exclusively for their cruise ships. Unlike many islands that only featured day activities, Augustifolia offered overnight "cabana camping" for a finite number of guests. Reservations sold out quickly, often a year in advance.

Alfred and Janet Tucci had obviously planned ahead. Ashore a simple bungalow had been reserved for them: a mirrored building with each suite boasting a bedroom and sitting/dining area, with a covered dog-trot connecting the units. Preston and Antoine would have their side, Janet and Alfred would have the other.

Everything seemed to be going well as they disembarked from the ship and made their way about the island. At lunch, Antoine was delighted to discover the barbeque was an all-you-can-eat affair. He came proudly back to the table, plate piled high with various glazed and smoked meats.

Preston, erroneously assumed Antoine had gotten food for both of them. He realized his faux pas as he grabbed a small pile of wings, and noticed Antoine's appalled expression. He tried to apologize, put the food back. "No, no, it's cool," Antoine replied, pushing the wings on to Preston's plate. "I'll just get more. Does anyone else want anything while I'm up?"

It wasn't till dinner that their cabana that things got notably tense.

Preston was sitting next to Antoine in the couch on the porch, reading. He'd drawn his legs up and packed against Antoine's side as he did at home, not bothing to slide away when his father came out

Alfred sat in a deck chair nearby. He regarded Preston, eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm still trying to get used to this," he said, gesturing towards where Preston sat. His tone was less than friendly.

Preston gave an exaggerated sigh and closed his book. "What about _this_ , Dad?" he asked.

Alfred made a rumbling sound of disapproval. "Have you ever tried 'not being gay?'"

"Yes," Preston replied, tone icy. "In college."

Alfred regarded the two men, unaware that his wife had come around the porch. He snorted and rolled his eyes. "I'll be honest, I keep hoping this is just a phase.

Preston tossed his book down on the couch, shoved himself to his feet and stood before Alfred, arms folded. "Dad," he said calmly, "I am thirty years old. This is not just a phase, and I'm sorry if it's not what you wanted, but it's who I am."

"No one said we didn't want you this way," Janet offered, coming over and resting a hand on Preston's side. "It's just an adjustment period for all of us, son."

It was starting to rain. Antoine looked up at the darkening sky. No one paid any attention to him.

Preston and his father were arguing in full now, voices low, but harsh.

"You were set up to take the bull by the horns," Alfred hissed. "The schooling, the training, your language studies. Should've been making half a million a year by now, settling down and raising a family at this point, and you're nowhere close. I thought I raised you better than this." Ignoring Janet's soft protests, he bared his teeth and snarled something in flawless German. "{I bet you've even forgotten most of your languages.}"

Preston straightened his back. "{Oh, I still remember just fine, father,}" he replied.

From across the porch came a loud groan, interrupting both men. "You're doing it again," Antoine whined petulantly. The German thing. You know I can't speak it. I especially hate it when you and Burnsie get all gossipy in German."

Alfred tilted his head, eyebrows drawn together. "Burnsie."

"Yeah," Antoine nodded, getting up and standing rigidly beside Preston. "Monty Burns of Springfield. Those two always with the chitchat and I can never understand a word of it. Me and Waylon, totally left out."

"Wait," Alfred said, drawing a hand to his chest. "C. M. Burns of Burns Worldwide?"

Preston nodded mutely.

"You talk with him regularly? You know him?"

Antoine raised a hand and crossed his fingers. "Oh those two are tight, but I guess it's okay. It gives Waylon and I time to catch up when we go out there. Let these two boss-types do all the business talking, I'd rather relax by the pool. Oh, speaking of which, Prep, Waylon mentioned a little anniversary get-together this summer. You're in right? Because I already said yes. He said we could just have our regular room at the manor."

Antoine paused and licked his lips. "You know what, this rain's making me thirsty. I'm going to get something to drink. I'll be back." He padded through the dog-trot and into his suite.

Alfred watched the blue-haired man go, then returned his attention to Preston. "Wait," he began slowly, holding up a hand. "You know Mister Burns… actually know him… and you actually stay at his private residence."

"Yes!" Preston gave a stomp for emphasis. "Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Shoot," Antoine interjected, emerging from the kitchen with a glass of water and several pastries, "we've been going to the manor for years. I mean, we went to the wedding and everything, got to meet Burnsie's son, his grandchildren…" Antoine took a bite of a creampuff and chewed thoughtfully. He paused, offering the plate to Janet, who politely declined.

"I haven't seen any photos of Mister Burns with a wife," Alfred mused.

Antoine swallowed mightily. "Didn't say he married a woman." He gave a casual shrug.

Preston shoved him, expression horrified. "Antoine! We signed a non-disclosure agreement!"

"Well, I didn't say who he married. Guess I forgot about that little form," he gave a shrug. "What can I say? I'm not a very smart guy. Kinda dumb, really." He shoved another pastry in his mouth.

Alfred leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. He looked from one man to the other before his eyes finally locked on Antoine.

"Stupid like a fox," he said slowly, regarding the blue-haired man with a steely expression. "You're a smooth talker, and a hustler. Maybe you don't think yourself book smart, but there's nothing dumb about you."

He stood up; Preston taking a step back reflexively. "Not married to a woman," he muttered under his breath. He clasped Antoine firmly on the shoulder. "Radson, you've given me a lot to think about. I think I'm going to turn in for the evening. Goodnight to the both of you, Janet." With that, Alfred Tucci took his leave.

Preston turned to his mother, offering a shrug, unsure what to say next. She reached up, and stroked his arm. Antoine gently patted his other arm. "Give him time," Janet said softly.

Preston jabbed a thumb towards Antoine. "That's what _he_ always says."

Antoine, mouth full, could only shrug.

"I'm going to see how your father's doing," Janet said. She gave Preston a kiss on the cheek, and followed her husband's route inside.

Preston flopped back on the couch and grabbed his book. Antoine dropped down beside him and rested his head in Preston's lap.

"You shouldn't have let that thing about Monty slip," Preston murmured as he ran his fingers through Antoine's salt-softened hair. "But, I'm glad you did."

Antoine closed his eyes and nested his head deeper against Preston's thin flank. "Hey, it's the least I could do for my boyfriend, right?"

Preston's hand stopped. He stared down at Antoine. "What did you call me?"

"I think you heard," Antoine replied, not opening his eyes. "But let's not confuse the issue, I'm still your best friend, first and foremost. So don't forget that."

Kissed his fingers, then lightly touched them to Antoine's lips. "I won't forget, Antoine." He tried to resume reading, but found his mind was quite wonderfully distracted. He listened to the light tropical rain falling around them, and closed his eyes.

* * *

 **DAY 7 – Cruising**

Preston spent most of the morning on the lido deck, beside his mother. He wore a white cotton button-up shirt, and a pair of swim trunks. Antoine was sunbathing, sleeping on his stomach in the lounge chair next to them. Despite his general opinions of water, his eyes kept returning to the pool. The water looked most inviting. After a brief internal debate with himself, he came to a decision. The sun beat down on him. A quick dip would feel good.

Preston slipped his prescription sunglasses into their case and sat up, unbuttoning his shirt from top to bottom.

He didn't give it a thought as he slid the clothe from his bare torso and stood up.

"Preston," his mother said, voice concerned, "where'd you get that scar?"

Shit! Preston thought. He hastily grabbed his shirt and wrapped it around himself, clutching it shut. "Nowhere," he replied, quickly, turning away.

Janet was on her feet, pulling him back towards her, back down into the chair beside her. "What happened, Preston?"

Preston hung his head.

"You can tell me." T

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. His mother's voice, soaked in worry, asking gently. He tried to swallow the words down, but they came up unstoppable. He slid his chair closer to his mother and leaned in, still hunched up.

"Remember that incident in the news about two years back? The kidnapping where Mister Dimas…," Preston choked on his words and sighed, shoulders trembling slightly. "How there were casualties?"

Janet's narrow hands were on his shoulders, stabilizing him. Grounding him. She nodded.

"Well, there were casualties. Antoine there, he got shot with a crossbow bolt, right below his armpit. It wasn't a lethal wound, but it was messy. Me?" He closed his eyes and began unbuttoning his shirt. "I got shot. Right in the stomach, just blow my ribs." He pushed the cloth aside, exposing the dime-sized mark: a shallow scar, paler then the surrounding skin, and recessed slightly. "The one on the back looks worse," he said, buttoning his shirt back up. "That's the exit wound."

Whatever response Preston was expecting from his mother, the one he got was something he'd never expected. Janet made a soft, high-pitched noise, a keening whimper, and pulled Preston into her arms. She rested her chin on his head, holding him close.

"My baby was shot," she cried softly, clutching him, rocking him.

Preston did not object, protest. He felt his eyes begin to burn, hot with tears that threatened to overflow at any moment. Everyone else around them had been forgotten for the moment. He tried to hold back, keep everything contained. His breath hitched in his throat. The next thing he knew, he was sobbing gently against his mother's warm body.

"Why didn't you tell us?" she whispered into his hair. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Preston struggled to form words. "When you… when you get so used to not talking about things, it makes it hard to start again," he replied in hushed, rattling tones. "And I have to try so hard not to tell you and dad about stuff, not to disappoint you, I thought… I couldn't…" He threw his arms around Janet and held her tight. It didn't matter who saw him, it didn't matter what other people thought. In that moment, he was just a little boy again, burying himself in the comforting arms of his mother.

"I didn't want you to know, but I didn't even think about it. I used to think about it all the time, but being with him helps. After I got out of the hospital, he saw I was struggling. He asked me to move it with him. It was supposed to just be a temporary thing while I got better, but… now it's more. He's always been there for me." Preston gestured towards Antoine.

Janet was weeping softly into his hair.

"Please, mom, don't cry."

"I don't know what hurts more," Janet began, pushing herself back and dabbing her eyes with her towel. "The fact that my baby boy was shot, or the fact he didn't even feel comfortable enough with his own parents to say anything about it."

Preston sat up, reaching for the towel. He didn't know what to say. He wiped his eyes and put on his dark sunglasses, hoping they hid his tear-reddened eyes. He took his mother's hand, as smooth and delicate as his own, and squeezed gently.

Beside him, oblivious to everything, Antoine slumbered on.

* * *

 **Day 8 – Return**

The final day on any vacation is always a bittersweet day, and seems to divide people into two categories: those who rush madly about trying to cram every last activity into their few remaining hours… And those who prefer to sit back and relax as they try to psych themselves up for reintroduction to their normal lives.

It turned out the entire Tucci clan, and one Radson, fell into the latter category.

As the ship steamed over the now-grey Atlantic waters, slate with the cold-hued from the northern currents, the four passengers sat packed together on the balcony of Janet and Alfred's cabin, watching the view.

Preston and Antoine had lugged their deck chairs over to his parents' room. The additional chairs made the already narrow balcony remarkably cramped, but no one was complaining. Preston sat between his mother and father. Alfred was oddly stoic, looking out to sea, his eyes focused on something beyond the horizon.

"I had a great time," Antoine offered, giving Preston's parents a nod. "Thanks for inviting me!"

"It was a good trip wasn't it," Janet agreed, looking over Preston to her husband.

Alfred interlaced his fingers and stared out at the cloudy sky. "I only wish we'd done it sooner," he agreed. He turned his head slightly, looking at Preston from the corner of his eye. "You've grown up, done a lot for yourself. I guess I didn't see that." He inhaled sharply, held his breath for a second, then let it out slowly. "I'd like to get to know you better, Preston. Both of you actually," he confessed. "I hope it's not too late for that?"

"As long as you're both alive and willing to take the time, it's not too late," Antoine remarked from end.

Preston grinned, and affirmed Antoine's statement.

"We should do something like this again," Janet smiled.

Alfred leaned forward, and fixed his dark eyes on Antoine. "If we do, Radson. I expect you to play a much better gave in the first nine. No trying to pull your swings just to let me win."

Antoine snickered. "Fair enough, Alfred. I won't hold back. Heck, twenty bucks says I sink the first birdie on a par three before you do!"

"Twenty bucks says deal," replied Alfred. The men stood up, and shook hands. A deal. There was no going back from it now.

The goodbyes that followed after the ship docked, as they stood on the pier, were genuine and heartfelt. Preston reached out to shake his father's hand, and found himself wrapped into a dual embrace from both parents. "If you're ever hurt, if you need help, _please_ reach out to us," his mother whispered, her face against his. "You're our son. We love you!"

After a moment, they broke apart, allowing Antoine to come in and say his goodbyes. Hugs, handshakes, one last goodbye, and that was it. The sea of humanity washed between them, carrying Preston and Antoine back towards their car. Antoine slipped his hand into Preston's and smiled. He didn't say anything. There were no words.

Side by side, the two men made their way back to the world they'd left behind.


	11. Antoine and Rigel

Rigel Vought, known as "Riley" to her friends, typically took lunch in her office. As personal assistant to the CEO, Preston Tucci, her office joined into his. Usually she ate upstairs in case he needed anything from her. She didn't have to, it wasn't expected of her. It was a personal preference for the young woman.

On occasion though, she felt it better to eat down in the cafeteria. Today was one of those days.

She'd found herself a quiet spot away from most of the staff, her back to a corner, affording her a view of the entire room. There, she skimmed through news articles on her tablet as she ate. It was her way of relaxing, her downtime.

Rigel heard a slight commotion and looked up. Antoine and his little gang from maintenance, or "Infrastructure" as it was technically called had arrived and were chatting loudly about some video game. Or maybe it was a movie. Rigel wasn't interested in either. Antoine laughed as he looked around the room, then his eyes fell on her. He grinned and waved. Rigel wished she could make herself invisible.

Detaching himself from the rest of his fellows, Antoine sauntered over to her, tray balanced easily in one hand. He gave his blue hair a flip and plopped his tray down across from her. "Hey, Riley! Long time no see, eh?"

It hadn't been that long, Riley thought as she put on what she hoped was a sincere looking smile.

While she didn't dislike Antoine per se, but he wasn't exactly a friend either. She'd politely explained it once that she preferred to keep her at-work relationships professional. Antoine's gregarious personality and rather casual attitudes were at odds with her agenda. That, and their entire relationship had started off rather precariously. Antoine hadn't been particularly welcoming. She understood now that he'd just been looking out for Preston – and she had to admit he'd been trying to make up for it – but not everyone will be destined to become close friends.

Especially, in Rigel's mind, because Antoine was a close friend of her boss. She never wanted to find herself inadvertently between them, having to choose sides between a friend and her boss. There was no way she'd win in that.

There was also nothing she and Antoine had in common aside from working at the same nuclear plant. It wouldn't have been an easy friendship anyhow. He was her coworker, and that was how it would stay.

So thinking, Rigel found it easiest to keep her rapport with Antoine as detached as possible. Thankfully, he picked up on that, and respected it. He'd stopped actively inviting her to join him, Preston, and some of the other managers for drinks after work. The offer was still there, and Rigel was always welcome, but mercifully he wasn't hunting her down every Friday night and trying to convince her to go out anymore.

Rigel turned the tablet off and slid it out of the way. She gestured to her mostly finished lunch. "Hi Antoine. I don't mean to seem rude, but I'll be leaving shortly."

"No worries, no worries," Antoine replied, pulling a rolled magazine out from his back pocket before sitting down. "I don't see you down here much," he remarked.

"Some days it's nice to get a chance of pace," she replied.

"Bossman's in a bad mood, huh? " Antoine peered at her, keen eyes twinkling. "Trying to lay low?"

Rigel sighed. Perhaps that was another thing that frustrated her about Antoine: his keen intuition when it came to people. More often than not, he saw through what she was saying and read what she actually meant. He'd been mostly wrong about her when she started working at the plant, _mostly_ ; but it was true she had been observing Preston's performance under orders from the Board. Antoine had picked up on that, and took a defensive stance. Rigel had to admire his loyalty, but she didn't like how he'd treated her like a spy.

She nodded.

It was useless trying to lie to Antoine.

"He was listening to Italian Opera before nine AM."

Antoine winced like he'd just eaten a lemon. "Oooh! That is not good."

Rigel couldn't help but smile in spite of herself.

"No, not especially. So I figured I would eat down here today."

"I don't blame you! I'd be doing the same."

Rigel glanced at the clock and gripped her tray. "Well, I would stay and chat, but my break's just about over."

"Yeah, no worries," Antoine said, repeating himself once again. "But hey, Riley? Little piece of advice." He patted the table and motioned her to lean close.

Rigel set the tray down and slid over towards Antoine.

He cupped a hand to his mouth, glanced around furtively, then whispered: "The Italian Opera's bad, but it's not the worst. If you ever hear him playing his viola, run! I mean it, head for the hills and hunker down. Do _not_ under any circumstance bother him. I don't care if it's the president, alien invasion, a meltdown... It can wait!"

"He has a viola here?"

"In a case, bottom of the wardrobe by the coat-rack, yes. When he's completely steamed, he plays it to relax. And it works! It's meditative for him I guess. But for the love of god, let him finish. Whatever hell you think is going on around you will be nothing compared to the wrath you incur if you interrupt him."

Rigel closed her eyes, tried to picture Preston playing a viola. She saw him standing, head bowed, eyes closed, lanky frame swaying to the music as he played. The narrow-faced CEO immersed in his own private world for a moment. The image came easily, as too the frustration at an intrusion.

"I can see that," she said, nodding as she stood up, gathering her tray. "Thanks for the warning, Antoine."

"Just trying to look out for you, y'know." Antoine gave her a half-salute, then turned his attention to his food and magazine.

Rigel couldn't shake the image of Preston playing a viola as she made her way back upstairs. It was something she never knew about him, but it wasn't surprising either. _Of course he plays an instrumen_ t, she thought as she sat down at her desk and started going over the afternoon itinerary. Rigel filed that knowledge away, wondered if indeed he actually had brought his viola to work, and wondered quietly if it would ever be something she could ask him about. She saw his long fingers deftly holding the bow, artfully dancing over the bridged strings.

"I'll bet he plays beautifully," she mused as she returned to work.


	12. Confessions

Antoine Radson sat at his desk down at the shop, the workspace hub for maintenance (aka "Infrastructure") of the nuclear plant. He was leaned back in his chair, boots on the edge of the desk, tossing a roll of duct tape to himself. Work had been slow today. He'd sent Laney and Stewart on as many side projects as he could find. He wanted a bit of quiet time to sit and think.

Thinking; something Antoine would tell people he was no good at, though that was hardly the truth. There were many different types of intelligence, he knew. He was brilliant when it came to solving mechanical problems. He could think in terms of three dimensions, rather than seeing the world as flat. Such skills made him feel better, though admittedly they didn't offer solution to his current situation.

He wished he could say his mind was on work, but it wasn't. In truth, it was probably upstairs in the administrative wing, lurking in a corner of Preston's executive office.

Preston.

It wasn't fair that one person should be on his mind so much lately, Antoine decided.

Though it had been some time since the ill-fated rave that Preston and that Keith guy had gone to, Preston still took off some evenings. He'd leave, without Antoine, and return later in the night. Not so late that Antoine was lead to wonder if _something_ happened; but the more times Preston went out, the less Antoine realized he could stand it.

He kept his mouth shut, tried not to let on that it bothered him. After all, hadn't that been something they'd agreed on? That Preston could have a bit of a "social life" on the side?

Well, Antoine thought as he flipped the roll of tape in the air and watched spin lazily, sometimes things change, right?

He'd been struggling with trying to find the right words to tell Preston how he felt, and not make it sound controlling or petty. Words, unlike mechanics, were not his forte. He'd been trying to subtly drop clues.

Preston apparently was either missing them completely, or deliberately ignoring them on disbelief.

There had been that time on their cruise, Antoine had referred to himself as Preston's boyfriend. It had been a hard thing to say, something he wanted to repeat, but couldn't. When they got home, he'd pulled Preston into a full hug, and kissed him on the cheek. He'd hoped the gesture could be seen as tender. He was trying to be romantic, in his own way. At that moment, he wouldn't have minded if Preston had kissed him back.

But it hadn't quite gone that way. And Antoine didn't force the motion. He liked hugging Preston, savored the way the lean man felt against his body.

At least Preston wasn't so thin anymore. He would never be stout man, but his face had finally lost that sunken hollow look he'd worn for way too long. When Antoine pulled Preston against him, he hadn't been jabbed in the flank by the jut of the young CEO's hip bones like he had in the past. Preston had easily gained back fifteen pounds, though he was still a "stick insect" in Antoine's words.

Antoine ran a hand over his familiar paunch, noting the way his polo shirt stretched a bit tightly. They'd both gained weight, technically; Antoine more than Preston, ironically. Not that Antoine minded his own addition.

He'd never told Preston about his early teen years, after he'd become an emancipated minor. There had been a few times where eating daily was an expense he couldn't afford. In contrast to those literal lean-times, this was definitely preferred. Also, Antoine found he liked both the look and feel of being "cuddly."

Occasionally Preston had taken to expressing concern over his eating habits. It hardly annoyed Antoine. As long as he kept himself in the range of two-hundred, he was still within the weight restrictions as a pilot. Pushing the upper limits, admittedly, but Antoine would never risk his dream job by choice.

Over lunch one day, he'd been eating a double cheeseburger and fries, enjoying a large Coke to complete the meal.

Preston, eating a tuna salad sandwich and a bag of baby carrots he'd brought from home expressed his disapproval with both words and tone.

Smugly, Antoine set the burger down. _Until we're married, Preppy, you have no right to complain about my diet_.

It had been Antoine's way of testing the waters. Dropping the "m-word" into casual conversation, and gauging his housemate's reaction.

 _Fine, fine,_ Preston replied with a sigh; and said nothing more.

Antoine mentally kicked himself, and finished his lunch in silence. Since then, he'd occasionally thrown the word in other situations too. One night, they'd been arguing. Something stupid really; Antoine couldn't even remember what started it. Probably him being insensitive, or maybe Preston being the opposite. It didn't matter at this point.

Antoine had looked up from his bowl of cereal and announced _: Jeeze! If we're gonna bicker like an old married couple, why don't we just make it official already_.

Preston, clearly thought Antoine was being overly irreverent. He threw his hands in the air, made a snappy remark, and stormed off to his room, pulling the door shut behind him.

Frustrated, Antoine set the tape roll on his desk and hunched over it, sliding his legs to the floor. He drummed his feet against the tile absent-mindedly. What was he really trying to get at anyhow? He certainly didn't know. All Antoine really knew for certain was that he wanted Preston to be a part of his life, a very close and significant part, and he had utterly no idea how to propose such an arrangement. He folded his arms on the desk and stared morosely at the grey roll of duct tape.

It yielded no answers. He hadn't expected it to. Quitting time rolled up, but Antoine didn't feel like rushing home. He sent Preston a text that he'd be out on the trails around the plant, then went to change.

* * *

"How are things going with you and Antoine lately," Janet Tucci's voice flowed smoothly through the speaker of Preston's phone.

"We're doing well, Mom," Preston spoke into his Bluetooth headset as he walked the downtown avenues, polished shoes daintily pointing as he walked. The evening was cool, brisky, pleasant. Leaves swirled around his feet, caught in the drafts of a passerby. He stepped to the side, and straightened his windbreaker. The air was delightful, the shop fronts illuminated in the evening light. Preston felt like he was prancing through the scene of a movie.

"I'll admit we do bump heads sometimes," he added. "I've never been in this sort of relationship before."

There was a pause on the line. Preston adjusted his earpiece. "Cohabiting like this," he clarified.

"Is it something you're happy with? Do you think this is something you're going to make long-term?"

A flash of colour caught Preston's eye. He paused, regarding the perfume bottles in a window. They looked like pieces of a captured rainbow. "Antoine's, well… he and I have different thoughts on everything a relationship entails," Preston answered delicately skirting the issue: Antoine's asexuality. Thought his parents had accepted him as gay, and learned he'd had more than a handful of encounters since leaving for college, Preston was quite sure they didn't want to think about the physical component to his past relationships.

He was also not particularly interested in discussing it either.

"All relationships involve compromise, Preston," his mother nudged.

Preston ran his hand through his wavy hair, thinking. Her voice in his ear, it felt as if she were standing beside him. He could almost forget she wasn't.

"I'm sure you and Dad had to compromise on a few things," he chuckled.

"Oh, my dear, you have no idea what a strong man your father can be. I knew he was the one for me the first time we met, but that Italian personality can be more than a little overwhelming. And, considering how his father pushed _him_ , it's no wonder he tried to take that same controlling attitude towards me. We… had more than a few discussions about that."

Preston resisted the urge to laugh. "I can't picture Dad bossing you around."

"That's not for a lack of trying, at least in the beginning," his mother laughed. "Ah, there were times I almost wondered what I had gotten myself into. But I loved him, and he loved me; and we'd made a commitment to each other to work things out. With those elements established, the rest was details.

"Your father has very rigid ideas," Janet continued. "At first he thought my intention of continuing my career once we were married was ridiculous; but at the same time I think he was proud to see it. Ah, Preston, it was worth it in all aspects."

Preston pivoted around a corner, leaned on a streetlamp, and waited for the "walk" sign to light up. "Even me?" he asked.

"Of course you! Why would you even question that?"

The light turned. Preston jostled in with a sea of pedestrians, cutting to the next avenue. "Sometimes I feel like Dad… like I didn't turn out the way he wanted."

"Your father grew up running with the bulls, the way his father pushed him. It's not you. He takes that edge with everyone."

A southern breeze wrapped around Preston's face, bringing with it the tang from the Hudson down below. It was soft, salty, and unexpectedly warm for the time of year. Preston remembered the cruise he and Antoine had shared with his family.

"Dad seemed to take to Antoine quickly enough," Preston said with a huff. "The way they started gambling over golf. But that's Antoine for you. He's different than most people. He has a way about him. People meet him, and they like him."

Preston's voice trailed off. His wonderings had taken him down as far as Monument Park. The statues were illuminated by small lights, set into the marble at their feet. They appeared to be glowing; larger-than-life figures illuminated against the cloudless urban night sky. He walked slowly towards the fountain, set in the lowered center of the plaza.

Visions of Antoine flashed through his mind. The first time he'd met the man in Dimas' office. Their years working together. The night in Florida when he'd thought they were going to make love… the simple evenings on the couch spent arm-in-arm. The times Antoine had seemed a bit less than asexual, a touch more than platonic. Preston wondered what it would be like, to know Antoine in _that_ way.

Janet was silent, waiting patiently. Sometimes their conversations had lulls, but Preston soon learned it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. It was, like his mother had said, getting to know each other as two adults, not as parent and child.

"Antoine's hard to figure out," Preston admitted, sitting down on one of the marble benches overlooking the river far below. "Since we got back from our trip, he's started this new phase of making jokes I'm not sure I like."

"Is he teasing you?"

Ah, and like that the momma bear tone comes up, Preston thought with a laugh. "No, Mom. No! Nothing like that. But he keeps making remarks like 'oh, if you're going to say that, you might as well marry me,' or 'we should just get married already.'" He stretched comfortably, listed a few more examples, then realized he'd been rambling. "Sorry, I went off topic a bit. I can't think of exact specifics right now, but that's the gist of it."

"Dear," Janet began slowly, gently, "are you sure he's joking? Because from everything that you've told me, it sounds more like he's serious, in his own way."

Preston felt the air catch in his lungs. He'd never even considered that option. He thought of the ways he'd dreamed of proposing in his fantasy world: on a knee, some elaborate preplanned event, to a gorgeous tan and muscled man. All perfectly executed, formal, traditional.

"You don't think he's seriously asking me, do you?"

Janet's voice was kind, patient. "I don't get the impression Antoine's the sort to imply a commitment if he's not willing to make good on it. That's not what I saw from him anyhow."

"That's true. You're right," Preston admitted, glad he was sitting down. He unzipped his jacket, letting the cool air soothe the heat that was creeping steadily up his neck and spine. Married to Antoine? In all honestly, it wasn't something he'd ever imagined. He'd been so preoccupied with his own life, both professional and social, to even consider that Antoine's teasing was in fact perfectly true.

"Could you see yourselves together like that?" Janet asked.

Preston fanned his shirt. "I'd never thought he might be serious. What do I do?"

"That's something only you can answer," Janet replied. "But he clearly loves you with all his heart, that was obvious from the first day of our trip. I think that's partially why your father warmed up to him as well. You're our son! We love you Preston, your father and I, even if we haven't always said it. Seeing someone who cares for you as deeply as we do? Of course we're going to take fondly towards someone who treats you the way we know you deserve. That man would do anything for you, Preston; it's plain to see in what he says, and how he acts."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for that level of commitment," Preston confessed.

"Then take your time, but if he's not the one for you, don't lead him on. And if he is serious in his marriage talk, it's best to be honest about how you feel. But try and be gentle, dearest, because I also get the impression he'd not had the easiest life. This is probably hard for him too."

Preston kicked back on the bench, and set his jacket to the side. "I wish we'd had these talks back when I was a kid." Preston gave a soft laugh. "It would've made my teen years easier for sure."

"We can't go back in time, Preston. We can only move forward. Even if we didn't talk then, I'm glad we are now."

"Me too," Preston agreed. He rubbed his face. His palms feel cool from the stone, refreshing against his flushed cheeks. "Thanks Mom, I mean it. Thanks for listening."

His mother's voice felt like a hug, he could almost imagine her arms around him, drawing him close. "I love you, we both do. Your father and I are both so proud of you Preston. Never forget that."

* * *

Preston let himself in and dropped his keys in the bowl by the door. He slipped his earpiece into its charger, and went to find Antoine.

It wasn't hard. Antoine was in his basement man-cave, wearing nothing more than a pair of sweats, and watching some inane reality competition, the sort that involved dodgeballs and foam cannons. He was sprawled on the length of the couch, one leg draped over an armrest.

"Hey Prep, you're back earlier than I expected." Antoine slid over to make room for his housemate.

"I just took the bus downtown and wandered around for a bit after work. Talked with my mother for a while."

"That's good. Didja tell Momma T. that I said hi?"

Preston loosened the top button of his shirt and climbed over Antoine. "Move over, Antoine," I want to lie down too."

"Uh, really?" Antoine asked, surprised. "Okay!" He tucked his body as close to the back of the couch as he could and held out an arm. "Put that footrest there if you need it, but otherwise, c'mon in, Prep!"

Preston snuggled in against Antoine's bare chest, feeling the heat from the man's body through his cotton shirt. On impulse, he laced his fingers through Antoine's and pulled his housemate's fingers to his lips. He gently kissed the rough palm of Antoine's hand, then each finger in turn. "I probably don't say this enough, Antoine," he began as he settled in deeper against Antoine's soft flank, "but I love you."

He felt Antoine's breath catch; heard him swallow in surprise. "I love you too, Preppy," Antoine whispered back, burying his face in Preston's shaggy hair. "You mean the world to me."

Wrapped together, arms and legs intertwined, Preston realized he couldn't have cared less what was on TV. In this moment, the only thing that mattered was the man beside him: Antoine, the man he loved.


	13. Now or Never

Antoine rarely took days off. Nor did he make a habit of leaving work early. His work ethic prohibited it. Sometimes though, there were thing more important than the daily grind. He'd asked Sharon for a personal leave day, which she'd granted.

Antoine had things to take care of. Shortly after Preston left for work, he climbed into his ancient Geo Metro, the first and only car he'd ever had, and drove downtown. Preston had been confused, possibly a bit annoyed by Antoine's decision to take a day off.

While Antoine might've been a solid worker, Preston's nature took an almost masochistic bend, the belief that everything would collapse were he not at the helm. He'd gotten better over the long months, learning how to release the reins a bit and let his staff do their jobs, but he was by no means the lackadaisical man that his predecessor had been. Perhaps, Antoine mused as he drove, that was just Preston's nature. Alert, high-strung, cautious and sensitive. All Preston's ego and bravado was merely a clever disguise, carefully sculpted over the years. It kept people from seeing his true nature, and it worked very well.

Antoine, however, knew better. He had seen the sort of person his housemate truly was. He'd been there while Preston struggled through his own dark place of depression and anxiety following the Incident where he'd been shot, and his boss murdered. The medication, the counseling, and, of course Antoine's support had worked wonders on the young man.

Antoine drove through the crowded downtown streets of Plateau City, pausing to let a through of pedestrians cross. Three in the afternoon, on a Friday. Everyone must've gotten off early, Antoine concluded as he circled the block looking for a parking spot. At least Bessie was small, and parallel parking was a skill of his. On the second pass, he found a spot, and darted in.

He had to admit his car looked horribly out of place in the shopping district, but it didn't matter. There was a particular store he needed to get to, to pick up an item he'd ordered some time back. Hamilton's Watches and Fine Jewelry. The sort of store that sold things like Cartier timepieces, and exclusive gem-studded ornamentation.

Antoine ambled over the the counter and gave them his order slip. While the associate went to box his order, he allowed himself to look over a set of sapphire-accented cufflinks. He wondered if Preston would like them. The man had an extensive collection, Antoine learned; matching his closet full of tailored suits and silk ties. Would the dark blue look good on Preston? Antoine wasn't sure.

"Mister Radson," a voice interrupted his thoughts. "Your item is ready, sir."

Antoine thanked the associate, paid, and tucked the bag into his coat pocket.

Bessie was naturally where he'd left her, looking none the worse for wear. Someday, he'd have to buy a new car. Or maybe a truck. Something. But not today. Not any time soon at this rate. He had to confess he loved the look of one of the square-faced Cartier watches. It was large, but on his brawny wrist it wouldn't be out of place. "Maybe next time," he thought out loud. That in mind, he drove home. He'd add that watch to his 'wish list.'

* * *

Preston arrived home right on schedule, his dark Cadillac cruising softly up the driveway and into the garage. Antoine was waiting, sitting at the breakfast bar, facing the laundry room that connected their house with the garage.

As soon as the door opened he greeted Preston with a cheery hello. "Hey, it's gorgeous weather out, Prep. Put on some jeans or something, and hiking shoes. I wanna go for a walk out back."

Preston didn't object. He nodded, set his bag on the table, and gave Antoine a pat on the knee as he walked past. "Good to see you too, Antoine," he smiled.

Antoine's house was located on the edge of town, technically Plateau City, but outside the urban area. He'd bought the place years ago for its location. The previous owners had planted a privacy hedge around the perimeter of the back yard, save for the far end which butted up against the pine barrens.

The Plateau Pine Barrens themselves where a state park, located at the northern edge of the city, inland of the escarpments. A state park of sandy glacial soil, dunes created in in the last ice age. Few plants could grow there, aside from pine trees and grasses that thrived in open sun. The landscape was a series of camel-backed hills and dips, dotted with mature pines and open sand fields.

Antoine had bought the house knowing however much development occurred around him, at least the state land would remain untouched. He'd never have neighbors or a subdivision behind him. It was the perfect place to take his mountain bike, and tear through the narrow trails at breakneck speeds, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The pine barrens were also a great place to hike and think when he wanted to escape the hustle of city life, and savor nature for a bit. There was one spot in particular, a gentle rise that few people went to. It afforded a nice view over the barrens. It was a decent walk, but not unbearable. Maybe a mile in. Well worth the trip.

Preston emerged from his room, wearing a pair of acid-washed skinny jeans and a grey tee shirt. He wore a red flannel shirt, unbuttoned, and a pair of worn tennis shoes.

Antoine recognized the shirt immediately. It used to be one of his.

Somewhere in their cohabitation, Preston had claimed it; something Antoine took secret delight in.

"So where are we going?" Preston asked as Antoine locked the patio door behind them and dropped the key into his pocket.

"We need to talk," Antoine replied, leading Preston past the pool and towards the pine barrens at the edge of his property. "I felt like outside would be the best place for it." He rubbed his chest absentmindedly, that gut-tight feeling of apprehension. Outside, the pine barrens. Neutral territory.

Preston picked up on the tension. "Is everything okay?" he asked, dark eyes nervous.

"We just gotta talk about stuff, is all," Antoine replied brusquely.

For the first quarter mile, neither man spoke much. The trail from Antoine's back yard was narrow and well-concealed. Once they got past the tree boundary of the barrens, the land opened up, and they could walk side by side. Antoine reached out, and took Preston's hand.

"We need to talk about us," Antoine confessed.

"In what way?" Preston asked.

Antoine felt his palm beginning to sweat, and ignored it. No sense in beating around the bush. "Hey Preston, how would you feel if you had to be intimate with a woman?"

Preston's fingers twitched. "I... well... You know I have in the past."

"Right, right," Antoine cut him off. "Back when you were getting to know yourself. But now that you know who you are, and what you like, how would you feel about it now?"

Preston pursed his lips, mouth a tight, thin line. He exhaled slowly.

Antoine could hear the slight tremor in Preston's breath, but whether from anger or apprehension he couldn't be sure.

"I... wouldn't enjoy it."

"Why not?" Antoine pushed. "Wouldn't it physically feel the same?"

Preston shook his hand free of Antoine's and glared at the other man. "Physically? That's one thing. But it's not all about the physical sensation. I'm not attracted to women, I'm not interested in women, and if you're asking me 'could I physically perform with a woman' then the answer is 'yes.' But I wouldn't enjoy it. It would feel awkward, wrong. Is that what you're trying to get at, Antoine?"

Antoine nodded. "That's exactly what I'm trying to get at, yes."

They walked on in silence a bit more, Antoine leading the way.

After several minutes, Antoine broke the silence again. "Hey Preston?"

"Yes"

Antoine rubbed his fingers together, and hoped Preston didn't notice. "Okay, bear with me. Imagine if you met someone who was perfect for you. Like your soulmate or something. The sort of person who made you feel complete just by being themself, and inspired you to be a better person because of that? The sort of person you couldn't imagine living life without. Are you picturing that sort of person?"

Preston climbed over a fallen log, following Antoine's lead. "Yes, I can picture that."

"Okay. Now image there's one small hitch in the plan. That this perfect person, your soulmate, the only problem is they're a woman. Then what do you do?"

Preston licked his lips and pushed his way after Antoine, up the sandy back towards the top of a rise. He said nothing.

Antoine, heart threatening to explode from his chest continued to push the issue.

"This is the perfect person for you, Preppy. You know it without a doubt; but it's a woman. What do you do? Do you decide to say 'nah,' and hope someone just as good comes along whose genitals match your preference? Or do you compromise everything you thought you know about yourself to make things work with this gal, knowing somehow, someday, you will have to consummate your relationship because she is just worth that much to you?"

Antoine offered a hand to Preston, pulling him up the dune slope to the top of the rise.

Preston was breathing hard, face flushed from exertion, and more.

"Antoine, that's not a fair question to ask me," he panted as he sat down on a tuft of soft grass.

"It's perfectly fair," Antoine replied, squaring his stance and looking out over the rolling barrens below.

"How? It's not even applicable. Is this what you dragged me out here to ask?"

Antoine stretched his arms up over his head, feeling the warmth radiating up from the sun-baked sand, their shadows lengthening behind him in the setting sun.

"Ah, gotta love Indian Summer," he remarked, trying to still the trembling in his veins. After a minute he turned back to Preston. "No, it's absolutely applicable." He gestured to himself.

"I don't follow," Preston confessed.

Antoine sighed heavily. "Look, Prep. I love you, okay? And you mean everything to me. But I'm not a sexual sort of person. And yeah, I've thought about the mechanics of the act; and yes, that time in Florida felt physically great... but there's that psychological component. Being intimate is more than the simple alignment of anatomy. And though I love you, and I want to please you in all the ways I can, the idea of sex is not something I'm completely comfortable with."

Preston said nothing, his expression unreadable.

Antoine shuffled his feet and continued.

"So, I guess what I'm saying is this: Right here, right now, you need to tell me the truth, because things are pretty serious between us in all ways but one. Would you be happy with me, knowing you'd be in a largely celibate relationship? ... Or, as sexuality is a normal part of human life, is it a necessary component for you in a long-term, possibly permanent relationship with someone?"

Preston started to answer, but Antoine held up a hand. "Because," he said, voice rough with emotion, "this is it. If you're not comfortable in a relationship with me, if it's not going to meet your needs, consider this your out: strings free, no harm, no foul. You can go about your life, find someone who truly fits what you're looking for in all the possible ways, and I won't hold it against you. But you need to tell me now. Which is it? Could you be happy with me? Or do you need more than I could necessarily give?"

Preston pushed himself to his feet, and folded his hands behind his back. He paced about the clearing, tracing his fingers over the rough bark of the pine trees as he passed. There was an urgency to his actions, an inability to sit still. "Antoine..." he began, and hesitated.

Antoine waited for Preston's reply. He realized he was holding his breath, that he'd knotted his fingers together. He forced himself to relax, breathe. It was like drawing in water. There didn't seem to be enough air.

"Antoine..." Preston repeated. He stopped and looked out over the gentle valleys below. "If you'd asked me this several years ago, I would've said 'no.' That couldn't be happy in a relationship like ours. But the more time I spend with you, the more I realize that I couldn't be happy without you." He turned and faced Antoine, rubbed his hands together slowly.

"If you're telling me, Antoine, that I could leave, and set out on my own, I'd have to reply that's not what I want. I'd rather be with you, and find ways to make it work, than try and recreate what I already have here with someone else."

Antoine stuffed his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. "So you're saying that you want to be with me? Even knowing what this entails?"

Preston gave an almost exasperated smile. "Isn't that what I just said?"

"Wanted to be sure, you know" Antoine mumbled in reply. Feeling like he was moving through a dream, fingers trembling, he slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew a small box. Before a speechless Preston, Antoine dropped to one knee, and opened the box.

"Preston Alfred Tucci, would you do me the honor? Would you marry me?"

* * *

Preston's gasped, and covered his mouth. Out of all the things Antoine could've asked, this was the last he'd been expecting. He stared at the ring in the box, a gold band, inset with tiny gems, white diamonds at the center, then shading outward to yellow, and what appeared to be rubies at the edges. Like the colours of the setting sun in autumn.

Preston barely hesitated. "Oh my god! Antoine, yes!"

Unable to contain the feelings that erupted within, feelings that matched the colours of the gems in the ring he leapt forward, throwing his arms around Antoine's shoulders, burying his face in the man's neck, enveloping himself in Antoine's warm scent. He was aware they were falling backwards, Antoine caught off balance by the sudden embrace, and he didn't care!

"You big lug," he said laughing as he landed across Antoine's chest. "Of course, yes!"

Antoine smiled ear to ear. Ring still held in one hand, he wrapped his free arm around Preston and pulled the slim man into a passionate embrace. Lips touched lips, the feeling of Preston's evening stubble against his cheek. A gesture Antoine was familiar with between them; but he parted his mouth slightly, allowing more than a simple kiss on the lips. Tongue touched tongue. It was both terrifying and exhilarating for him. After a minute, the two men broke apart, Antoine wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, still grinning.

Preston rolled to the side and drew his feet under him, knees of his jeans covered in the course, gold sand.

"Wow," Antoine panted, looking at Preston, wide-eyed. "Uhm, yeah. Wow!"

He deftly slid the ring over Preston's left finger. "Looks good on you, Prep," he said, pushing himself back and beaming proudly.

Preston turned his hand from side to side, watching the tiny gems sparkle. "It's perfect, Antoine," Preston finally managed to reply. He slid himself over and wrapped his arms around Antoine's broad flank. He nestled his head into the curve of Antoine's shoulder, closed his eyes, felt his housemate's arms fold around him.

"Thank you," he whispered against Antoine's cheek.

"Thank you," Antoine replied, holding him tight. It was an embrace Preston wished would never end.

Antoine, as if reading his mind chuckled softly. "Oh, Preppy. Remember, this is just the beginning." His hold tightened. "I'll never let you go."

"Why didn't you ask from the beginning?" Preston wondered as they walked back.

Antoine patted his fiance's arm. "Isn't it obvious, Preppy?"

"No," Preston replied, shaking his head. "It's not."

"Well," Antoine replied gently. "If I'd proposed to you right away you might've felt pressured to say yes. I wanted to make sure being with me was something you genuinely wanted before I put that sort of question on ya. I love you, I never want to make you feel pressured or forced. You've got to do what's best for you. But once you said you were okay with it, I had to ask. And," Antoine added, laying his head on Preston's shoulder, "thank you for saying 'yes.'"


	14. Lima Delta - Part1

Antoine Radson gave tossed a pair of khakis in the general direction of his closet, and resolved to deal with them later. They used to fit much easier. Probably shrunk in the wash, he concluded. It seemed to be happening far too often lately. He'd have to start washing everything in cold water. That would solve the issue, certainly.

He grabbed his bike helmet off the top of the his TV, pulled his bike out of the garage, slung his backpack on, and headed to work.

Some days he simply rode to the bus stop. He'd put his bike in the rack on the front of the bus, then finish the rest of the ride to work. Other days, he and his housemate carpooled. Today, beautiful weather, and barely five miles to work. An easy ride.

Easily he fell into a rhythm alternating between pedaling and coasting with the flow of the land. It wasn't a particularly challenging ride. There was that one hill between his house and the nuclear plant that always required low gear, but other than that, easy. The sun was already up, quickly burning away the night chill. It had been a hot spring, boding a dry summer. Already there were no-burn ordinances, no fires for those camping at Felskill park to the west. The pine barrens behind Antoine's house felt like a tinderbox.

He continued his pace of push-and-glide, ignoring the cars that passed him on the road. He crossed the avenue by the train station and bus stop, and coasted up to the guard house. He slid up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing his ID in a plastic armband. The guard gave him a nod, and waved him by.

Antoine parked his bike in the hanger, and threw on a work shirt. He eyed the helicopter next to him fondly as he fussed with his tie, admiring the sleek lines, the way she was made. An AW119 Koala, not the newest model, but she was every bit as beautiful to him as any chopper. He gave the craft an affectionate pat as he walked by. It had been too long since he'd had her out.

These days, she spent most of her time in the hanger.

Regardless, he still wheeled her onto the tarmac frequently enough for regular maintenance and checks. On his downtime he enjoyed tending to the craft, keeping her flight-ready at all times. Though he knew the odds of his boss requesting departure with barely an hour's notice were slim to none, it was a matter of pride to keep Lima Delta, his "Little Diva," in top shape. It gave a sense of purpose to his daily regime.

* * *

Preston Tucci stood in the board room at the head of the table, hands resting on the chair in front of him as he mulled over words in his head.

Preston rarely sat at meetings, preferring to stand. Most of his time was spent sitting behind his desk. It felt good to stand, it also made him the tallest person at the table. Perhaps it was merely an illusion, but he felt the Board listened to him more when they had to look up to him, literally.

Preston scanned the faces, once so intimidating, and now too familiar. Old white men, most of them. A few younger faces, a few women. The new Inside Director, Virginia Silbert, she was young enough, relatively speaking. Forties, Preston guessed. She'd come from the Admin side, Senior Management from Accounting or Human Resources. Preston couldn't remember which. He hadn't had much say when she'd been appointed to fill the spot left by Rhonda LeBlanc some time back.

All eyes were on Preston, awaiting his response.

Finally, he straightened up and folded his hands behind his back. Casually, he walked to the window and looked out over the reactor containment units. His eyes wandered to the hanger and tarmac by the parking lot.

"So," he began, turning back to the table, "let me see if I understand this correctly. This has been in the work for some time, of that I'm aware. So, please don't mince words with me. The Board has decided to sell off the company helicopter, and this leaves me with the unpleasant task of breaking this news to the company pilot."

"Exactly," replied a man across the table, his deepest eyes almost buried under think eyebrows and heavy brow ridge. Beetlebrowed.

"And what of his partial ownership? His share?"

Beetlebrow shrugged. "His contract states he owns a share, but it gives him no power to retain it upon release of employment, or sale of the vehicle. When we sell, his share is bought out, paid in full. If he doesn't like it, he can leave."

A woman at the other end, brown-dyed hair pulled in a bun tapped a gold fountain pen against her lips. "Is it even beneficial to keep him on staff? Why does the plant even need a pilot when there's nothing for him to fly? His pay, and the fact that he's salary make him a rather expensive employee to keep without reason."

Preston opened a Manila envelope from his briefcase.

"Antoine Radson is arguably an expensive asset outside of his role pilot, that I can agree to. And it doesn't make sense to keep a pilot when there's no chopper..." He pulled out letter, skimmed it, then handed it to the man on his right.

"That's Antoine's latest performance evaluation from Infrastructure. As you can see, he's taken on - by choice, not assignment I might add - the role of shift lead. He supervises working parties, coordinates repair schedules, has taken on a leadership role. Well, you can read Sharon's own words as well as I can, but clearly she speaks highly of him. His skill set and willingness to work has made him, unofficially at least, her go-to for handling labor and specialized tasks. You can see in this letter she recommends him for an official senior position in her department, which would justify both having him as a salaried employee _and_ his current compensation."

Preston watched as the letter circled the table, keeping close eye for any glimmer of emotion from the board members. Occasionally eyebrows would raise, or a tongue would click. Preston held the back of the chair tightly, and hoped his nerves didn't show. He realized his knuckles had gone white, and willed himself to relax.

The letter was slid back in front of him. He didn't reach down, lest his hand tremble.

An uncomfortable silence reigned.

Preston drew himself up to his full height, and released the chair. Tiny indentations from his fingers remained in the black leather.

"For those of you who've been here awhile, and I believe that's most of you, we'll all be well aware of just how particular Sharon is about her employees. She's not the sort to write flowery praise for everyone. Nor would her integrity let her write about Antoine in glowing terms just because I told her to." Preston afforded himself a chuckle, a break in his expressionless facade. "I'd be willing to bet Sharon would tell me off before she'd compromise her values just because I asked."

Voiced murmured in reluctant agreement.

Sharon, the Lead of Infrastructure, maintenance, regarded her job with the passion and intensity of a practiced surgeon. Her impossibly high standards, and willingness to fire substandard performers was well known. She hadn't gone easy on Antoine when he transferred into her department. In her own words, she openly admitted she pushed him hard when he came onboard, testing him with the same critical eye as she would a new piece of equipment.

Antoine had won her respect, despite his relaxed attitude. For all his casual disposition, work was one thing he always took seriously. I'm a pilot, if I don't do it right, people could die. Well, same down here, right? Infrastructure's not so different in that regard.

His performance review highlighted her approval of his mindset.

Beetlebrow looked around the table. "So what, ultimately is being implied here?'

Virginia Silbert, sitting at Preston's left spoke up.

"I should think it's quite apparent. Sell the chopper, keep the employee. If he was only a pilot, the plant would have no hesitation in parting ways. But I think it's apparent he's an asset, and worth the expense."

"Is that the opinion of the entire plant?" Beetlebrow asked, eyeing Preston from beneath heavy lids.

"Director Silbert is completely correct. I second, without hesitation, the retention of Antoine Radson as company staff."

Beetlebrow glanced around the table. A motion was made, and passed. In a majority vote, the decision was made to sell the company helicopter, but keep the attached pilot.

* * *

Antoine Radson drummed his feet on the floor and watched Preston apprehensively. He'd been summoned to the executive office, not a frequent occurrence. Once he'd seen Preston's solemn expression, he started to get worried.

"Antoine, please have a seat. I have something to tell you, and you're not going to like it."

"This isn't going to be good, is it," he muttered as he sat down. "Are you breaking up with me?" he asked, an attempt at humour. He glanced at Preston's personal assistant who stood nearby, hoping for a flicker of approval.

Preston's expression remained unchanged. His assistant, Rigel, blinked slowly and looked away.

Antoine felt himself wincing internally.

"Okay, cut to the chase, Prep." He threw his arms over the rests of the chair. "How bad are we talking about?"

Preston ran a hand over his face. He looked down for a moment before meeting Antoine's eyes. "We're selling the chopper."

Antoine stared at Preston, not fully comprehending. He couldn't have just heard what he thought. No, that wasn't right. He rolled Preston's words over in his mind. Preston hadn't stuttered. "Wait, say that again. You're selling my Little Diva."

Preston gave a single nod. "Yes. Lima Delta's slated for transfer later this month."

Antoine's body tensed, jaw muscles working. "You can't do that. I own a share."

"You'll be getting full reimbursement, what you initially paid in."

Antoine shook his head vigorously. "No! Not okay with this. That bird's my life, Preppy, and you know it!"

Preston held up his hands. "I know Antoine, I tried to argue on your behalf, the board wouldn't hear of it. I tried."

Antoine shoved himself to his feet, tugging the front of his polo shirt angrily down. "You didn't try hard enough," he snarled.

"Antoine, please, don't take that tone with me."

Antoine folded his arms across his chest. "I'll take whatever tone I like, and don't you tell me otherwise." He glanced at Rigel standing nearby. "God, Riley, why are you still here? I'm having a discussion with my boss."

Preston was on his feet, coming around the desk, mouth drawn in a thin line. "Miss Vought is my personal assistant, and she has every right to be where I need her. You will not take that tone of voice with me, nor will you take it with any other employee here."

Antoine rolled his shoulders forward. "Yeah? Or what?" Antoine felt his voice rising. "You think you can just tell me what to do? Bark orders at me like that? Just who do you think you are anyhow?"

"Right now, Antoine, I am your boss, and you are getting out of line. I'm sorry, I truly am, but my hands are tied."

Antoine clenched his teeth, shifted his weight from foot to foot like a prize-fighter readying for a match. He tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat.

"Go home, Antoine," Preston said, not unkindly. "Take the rest of the day for yourself. I'll take care of things here."

"How long have you known?" Antoine whispered, face a mask of disappointment.

Preston sighed. "Long enough to have had time to build a full dossier on why you're an asset through Sharon and Human Resources. The Board initially wanted to separate you and the chopper both. I stopped them on that at least. I'm sorry Antoine. I couldn't do more."

Antoine dragged his wrist across his eyes. For several minutes he said nothing. Merely looked at the floor, ceiling, walls... anywhere except Preston of Rigel. " 'Kay," he muttered at long last, unable to meet Preston's eyes. Without a further word, he turned and left, shutting the door very softly behind him.


	15. Lima Delta - Part2

When Preston arrived home and pulled his Cadillac into the garage, Antoine's bike was not on the hooks where it typically hung. The ancient car, Bessie, was under her tarp, unmoved for several days.

Passing into the laundry room which served as their entryway from the garage, it became apparent Antoine hadn't been home. Everything was exactly as it was left; no mail on the table, no telltale sign of snacking in the kitchen.

Setting his briefcase on a chair in the dining room, Preston went to change. He still kept most of his clothes in his room at the end of the hall, past their living room. It was easier than fighting for space in Antoine's closet. He threw on a pair of old jeans, a sweatshirt, and glanced at the clock. Not that he needed to, it was already dark outside. He typically got home after Antoine, unless they carpooled. Antoine should've been home by now.

Preston was fishing his phone out of his pocket to call Antoine when he heard the familiar rumble of the garage door opening.

Antoine!

Cell phone still in hand, Preston hastily darted down the short hallway, and into the open space of their combined kitchen and dining room. Antoine was already slouching his way in, blue hair plastered to his neck, forehead glistening with sweat. He gave Preston a wordless half-salute as he disappeared into his room.

Preston pulled a chair out from the dinner table and sat down. He'd wait.

A few minutes later, Preston heard water running. The shower. The sound of the water changed from a steady stream to a series of lulls and splashes as Antoine scrubbed himself clean.

The water stopped. A short shower. Barely a rinse compared to the marathon showers Antoine typically took.

It didn't take long before Antoine emerged from his room, hair still damp. He wore a towel wrapped around his waist, and nothing more. He pulled out a chair across from Preston and sat down.

Preston realized he was holding his breath, nervous of what his housemate - his fiancé might say.

Antoine seemed to be struggling for words as well. He rubbed his hands together, bare feet tapping some staccato rhythm on the hardwood floor. "Yeah," he finally started. "I got home late today. I know. I... I biked all the way up to Heidelberg."

Preston furrowed his brow, then tightened hips lips.

Antoine must've recognized the confused look.

"The village, district, whatever, where my parents live. You know where that is?"

Preston nodded. Heidelberg, named after the German city. Considering the Dutch history of Plateau City, an overlap in names was hardly surprising. But Preston had no idea that's where Antoine's parents lived. And, at that moment, he wasn't even sure which parents Antoine was referring to. Was it Marcus and Debbie, his foster parents? Or had he actually gone to see his real family? Did he even know his birth parents?

"I wanted to talk to Marcus," Antoine continued, answering Preston's unspoken question. I guess I just needed to talk about stuff, 'cuz a lot of things are happening all at once, and I'm not good at all this."

Better than me, Preston thought silently. He said nothing, but reached over the table towards Antoine's restless hands. He was grateful when Antoine clasped his fingers, and held on tightly. It's okay! He squeezed Antoine's hands, and tried to telepathically send calming thoughts. I'm here for you!

Antoine squeezed back.

"I was mad, really mad. Like, super pissed off," Antoine confessed. "I needed to take a ride. So I biked out, and after a few miles I figured why not go to Heidelberg because, what the heck, I used to live there, right? Anyhow, I found myself at my folks' house, and decided to stop. They were home, so I stopped in and we got talking... and yeah..." his voice trailed off.

"I got talking with Marcus and I told him about how y'all are selling the Little Diva out from under me. You know what he said?"

Preston shook his head. "What did he say, Antoine?" He traced his fingers over Antoine's knuckles.

"Well Marcus... Dad... he tells me that those who find their wings always find a way to fly." The restless drumming of Antoine's feet paused for a minute. He stood up, unwrapped the towel from his waist and draped it over his lap as he sat back down. "Chair's getting damp," he muttered.

"Anyhow," Antoine continued, "so I ask him what he meant by that. He pointed out that just because you guys are selling the chopper doesn't mean I'm losing my credentials; that I'm still a certified flight instructor, and my schooling' all paid off. He reminded me that now, if I want, I can look for a gig - even part-time - and do the sort of flying I like without having to worry about doing to it put food on the table.

" 'You're lucky, Antoine,' he tells me. 'Now you can chose what you want to do instead of being at some corporation's beck and call.' And he pointed out that I've still got a job, and the same pay." Antoine shrugged. "I didn't think of it like that. Still doesn't make me happy, I gotta confess, but it makes it not as bad."

Antoine raised his head and looked levelly at Preston. Preston found himself captivated by Antoine's clear blue eyes, at the way the light reflected. Even under the articulate glow of the counter lights, Antoine's face had a warmth and vitality. Preston found himself savoring every detail of the man, from his tan skin to the faint creases by his eyes, the lines of many smiles already shared.

"I'm not happy with this, Prep, and I'm really disappointed. But I've had worse in my life. So it's not the end of things. I guess I just know it's not your fault, and I wanted you to know I'm not mad at you."

Preston continued his light caress of Antoine's hands. "I did."

"Yeah, I get that. Thanks, y'know. And sorry for yelling at Riley like that."

Preston slid his hands up, and clasped Antoine's wrists firmly. "I'm not the one you need to apologize to about that."

"Right. I'm gonna talk to her tomorrow." He flipped his forearms so he was clutching Preston's forearms in return; both of them holding tight like men at the end of a cliff.

"Tomorrow's Saturday," Preston whispered, with a soft smile.

Antoine rolled his eyes. "Of course it would be. Well, Monday then. I gotta go get dressed." He pushed himself back from the table, threw the towel casually over his shoulder. He winked, and made a kissing motion in the air.

Preston tried to keep his eyes on Antoine's face. Tried and failed. He felt the blood rush to his face... at least some of the blood. The rest, well, he was glad he was sitting with his lap below the table.

Antoine gave a playful twirl, swung the towel like a scarf, and pranced off to get dressed. Preston took a deep breath, wondering what his next move should be. Rather stiffly he got up, slid his chair in, and stepped away from the table. For some things, only time would tell.


	16. Lima Delta - Part3

Preston Tucci lay on his back, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting on his stomach. Antoine was fast asleep, breathing slow and regular. Preston mashed his pillow around, trying to find that sweet spot. He wasn't restless, quite the opposite he felt deeply, deeply content. Apparently his brain just wasn't ready to sleep yet, despite the Xanax he'd taken not too long ago.

Instead, he found himself replaying the day's events.

 _All of them!_

* * *

He'd gotten home from work around seven thirty that evening. Later than usual, but since he didn't have to carpool with Antoine that night he took the advantage of the after-hours quiet to finish up a few projects he'd been working on. He'd been surprised not to find Antoine waiting for him, but not fifteen minutes later Antoine had arrived, hanging his bike on the hooks in the garage.

Antoine had taken a shower, then they'd talked about the day. Antoine seemed remarkably calm about it, but Preston wasn't sure if that was a matter of acceptance, or denial. His housemate was difficult to read, and rarely talked about what was on his mind. Despite his exuberance and outwardly social mien, Antoine was exceedingly tight lipped about personal affairs.

Preston wondered if it was a matter of Antoine's less-than-stable childhood, or if the man would've been that way even if he'd been raised from birth in a loving home.

Probably the latter, Preston decided. _Even if my parents had been stay-at-home parents, I'd probably have still grown up this way._ By that, Preston meant quiet, and reserved. That, among other aspects of his nature were most likely coded in his DNA, and something that would've never changed.

Not that he would've wanted them to.

When he and Antoine had sat across from each other, holding hands over the dining room table, he hadn't been completely surprised that Antoine wore nothing more than a bath towel around his waist. Antoine was never the most modest, even at the best of times. He was a fan of sunbathing, _au natural_ , by the pool. Thank god for that privacy hedge!

Antoine's tendency towards nudity was not an uncommon occurrence.

What was unexpected though was the little tease he did as he got up. He pulled the towel away from his waist, and slung it like a scarf about his neck.

Preston tried to keep his eyes on Antoine's face, but it was impossible. His gaze followed every curve of Antoine's full frame, from his muscular arms, to his soft belly, his solid thighs... and everywhere in between.

He felt the blood rush to his face, and down at the same time, tightening his loins. His pants had become unbearably tight, yet he dared not reach down to readjust.

Antoine seemed to enjoy the attention. He twirled and pranced, a deliberate display; even went so far as to blow Preston a kiss and make a 'come here' gesture as he traipsed off to the bedroom.

It was another one of those Antoine-things that made Preston wonder what the intent was. There were a dozen things it might mean, and an equal number that it probably did not.

God, why do you tease me so, Preston lamented. He stared at the ring on his hand, and felt his lips curve in a mischievous grin.

 _Oh hell,_ he decided, sliding his chair back from the table. _If you want to play those game with me, Antoine... You're crossing into dangerous territory._ He licked his lips, rubbed his hands together and stiffly followed Antoine's path.

* * *

It hadn't been what he'd expected, as he came in and found Antoine on his stomach, lying across the bed with a rose in his teeth. "I was wondering when you'd show up," Antoine purred, not bothering to remove the rose from his mouth.

He was still naked.

Preston felt his mouth suddenly go dry. The temperature of the room seemed to have increased by several dozen degrees.

"Guhhh?" he said, in shock.

 _Jeeze, Big Guy, way to sound intelligent_. Mentally he slapped himself. "Uh, what are you doing Antoine?"

"Waiting for you!" the blue-haired man (with no tan lines) replied. Antoine rolled on his side a bit, patting the bed next to him. "Come join me. Feel free to take off a few layers."

Preston pulled the sweatshirt off over his head, tossing it on the dresser. He'd just started unzipping his bulging jeans, then paused, a sense of uncertainty welling up from some dark recess of his mind.

Antoine noticed.

Of course he would.

He waved Preston over, closer, and deftly removed the rose from his mouth. "What was that look for, Prep?" he asked as he ran the flower lightly up the center of Preston's mostly smooth chest. Antoine pushed himself up to a sitting position and tucked the rose behind Preston's ear. Lightly he ran both hands through Preston's hair, down his shoulders to his hips, before tucking his thumbs into the waistband of Preston's pants.

It was as if Antoine's touch ignited every nerve ending they touched, bringing a paradoxically fiery chill to his skin. Preston shivered involuntarily as goosebumps rose the hair on his arms.

Antoine tugged Preston closer, pulling him by a belt loop. "You really should take these off," he suggested. Preston stumbled for a second as Antoine gave him another tug. It was easy to forget how strong his housemate was. The soft layers of Antoine's body concealed the strength of a bear. Preston had no doubt Antoine could've scooped him up like nothing if he wanted to.

Preston reached down, fussing hastily with the top button of his fly as he undid his pants. As he'd done had so many times before, though never with Antoine, and definitely not with this level of anxiety (save for his first time), he pulled his jeans and briefs down in one fluid motion.

He kicked his feet out of his pants, nothing left to conceal his arousal; not that his trousers were doing a good job of it when he'd had them on anyhow. Antoine threw his arms around Preston, nearly yanking the thin man off his feet.

Preston threw a hand out, grabbing Antoine's shoulder for balance.

Antoine pressed the side of his face against Preston's stomach. Preston felt his housemate's cheek and thick beard just above his naval, Antoine's lips perilously close to the scar of his old bullet wound. His housemate was clearly aware of this. Antoine kissed his way across Preston's flank, tracing lightly over the indented skin. The sensation there was different than the touch on his unmarred flesh; and Preston found he didn't mind.

His body was rigid, twitching involuntarily with every caress. He glanced down at Antoine, expecting to see the same.

The man was relaxed... in every sense of the word. Not completely limp, but nowhere near as eager as Preston.

Preston felt a twinge of disappointment.

Antoine gave him a gentle pat. "Hey, it works if that's what you're worried about; but we all know this stuff's involuntary. Don't think it's you. C'mon, Prep. Lie down and cuddle with me."

Preston removed the rose from behind his ear, set it in his water glass on the nightstand, and slid onto the bed beside Antoine.

* * *

Their next moments had been slow and cautious. Preston could see there was no hesitation in Antoine's actions when it came to stroking his chest, back, limbs. Antoine didn't even seem to mind running his hands along Preston's thighs and backside. Nor, much to Preston's quivering delight, was there any resistance in Antoine's kisses.

Antoine traced his fingers from Preston's naval downward, but never quite made his way further; his trepidation evident. Once upon a time, were this any other man, Preston would've simply grabbed that hand, and put it where he needed it to go. But this was Antoine, and the fact that they were lying like this at all was a huge gesture on his fiancé's part.

Trying to push anything with Antoine would've been too much for his blue-haired man.

Instead, Preston met Antoine's kisses with a closed mouth, and when he tried to do more, he felt Antoine tense slightly. Not enough to make him feel offended, but enough for him to tell it wasn't something Antoine was completely comfortable with yet.

The same was true as he touched Antoine's body. Any parts were fair game, as long as he avoided _that certain area_.

At one point, Antoine had actually taken him by the wrist, and guided Preston's hand down. As he got lower, he let go. His eyes were wide, almost scared. He lay perfectly still as Preston stroked him for a moment before gently but firmly moving Preston's hand away.

"I'm not... not really into that," he confessed. "But you know what I do like?"

Preston shook his head. He had no idea. "What's that?"

Antoine looked away, but Preston could see him blushing. "Would you... do you mind... Would you rub my belly?" He looked up to Preston, expression both hopeful and bashful at once. "I'd really like it if you did that."

Preston smiled, and propped himself up on an elbow. "Okay."

He ran his hands through the thick hair on Antoine's chest, along the trail of fur that connected chest to belly... and lower.

At least Antoine didn't dye this hair blue, Preston mused. Antoine was a natural blond, a very light shade excellent for holding a colour, but Preston was glad he'd stopped at the hair on his head and face. He found himself almost entranced by the textures of Antoine's soft, kneadable belly. There was something relaxing about running his hands over Antoine's skin.

Antoine clearly seemed to agree. His eyes were closed, and Preston could almost swear the man was purring slightly. As his hand moved down, but within the limits Antoine had set, he noticed that some part of his 'well-insulated' companion must've found the belly rub stimulating in more ways than one.

As Antoine had said, and Preston himself knew, certain acts of the male body were truly involuntary.

It still gave Preston a giddy little thrill though, to see the affect a simple belly rub was having on Antoine. He smiled to himself, and committed the view to memory. It was something he'd have to recall later, on his own private time.

After a spell, his hand had grown tired, and Antoine appeared to be almost asleep. Preston leaned over, kissed Antoine lightly on the cheek, and got up. Antoine stretched, and rumbled with contentment, but didn't open his eyes.

"You sleep," Preston whispered. "I'm going to go get something to eat before bed, and put this rose in a vase."

"There's one in the bottom of the cabinet with the serving bowls," Antoine replied, voice slow and mellow. "I ate at my folks' place. And after all this, I don't feel like going anywhere. I'm just gonna go to sleep. It's been an exhausting day for me."

Preston shook his briefs free of his jeans and yanked them on over his still firm body. He decided jeans weren't worth the discomfort. He had a spare pair of sweats in Antoine's bathroom. He'd put those on instead, and not bother with his sweatshirt. It was positively _roasting_ in Antoine's room.

"Hey Preppy," Antoine called as Preston got dressed.

"S'up, Antoine?"

"I just wanted to say, thanks for respecting my boundaries, you know? Because I do love you, but this is kind of a lot for me."

Preston chuckled. "It's okay Antoine. I enjoyed that."

"You did?" There was genuine surprise in Antoine's voice.

"Of course, you big deck ape," Preston replied, the old nickname lovingly used. "I'm probably going to take a shower before I come to bed tonight, but yes! Of course I enjoyed that!"

Antoine stretched again, and rolled onto his side. "That's good," he replied, back towards Preston. "I like it when it's good." With that, he wrapped his arms around a pillow, and was snoring softly before Preston had even made it to the kitchen.

Preston padded down the hall to his bathroom, smaller than Antoine's but more private. He let the water run to warm up, testing it with his hand.

When it was to his liking, he'd stepped in, with intent to do a bit more than bathe to satisfy himself. He had little doubt Antoine knew what he was doing, taking a slightly longer shower at the opposite end of the house. Clearly Antoine didn't mind.

 _He's a grown man_ , Preston reasoned as he turned the water off and grabbed his towel off the rack. Wasn't that what a relationship was about, compromise? Well, it didn't have to be conventional. If it worked for them, it was good enough for him.

Preston had a quick dinner, a bowl of whatever organic cereal Antoine had picked up from the Co-Op, brushed his teeth, then went to rejoin his non-traditional (but incredibly sexy) lover for a good night's sleep.

He knew there was no way he'd be falling asleep right away - too much had happened that day - but he felt relaxed, and deeply content. Sleep would come in time. There was no reason to rush anything.


	17. Antoine's Secret

Preston lifted the lid off the copy-stock box, and stared at the contents. Sitting on top of a stack of papers and Manila folders was a drawing, clearly done by a child. The lines where heavy, crayon strokes; the figures simple, and the trees looked like lollipops. The paper hadn't yellowed with age. It was obviously not from Antoine's childhood.

Beneath it were several more drawings, folders, and a few letters.

It was the last thing he'd ever expected to find as he and Antoine worked to organize the 'storage room,' a third bedroom in Antoine's ranch-style home, that had over the years become filled with various boxes. Currently it was serving as a space for Preston's spare belongings that he'd brought in from Boston. Antoine had stated he wanted to organize it to make a guest room, replacing the one Preston had permanently claimed as his own.

"What's this?" Preston asked, lifting a stack of paper out.

"Oh, those," Antoine replied quickly reaching for the drawings. "These are from my Littles." He took them and started leaving through the drawings.

Preston hesitated. Visions of Antoine with a host of children he hadn't mentioned flashed through his mind. Preston felt sweat begin to prickle at the sides of his neck. Was it possible Antoine was a father?

 _No_ , he thought, shaking himself. Antoine already admitted he'd never gone all the way with anybody. So he couldn't be a father; could he?

Antoine smiled as he pulled one out. It showed a drawn figure with blue hair, clearly him, pushing a little brown skinned boy on a swing. "That's me and LeMarcus. LeMar, I called him. Oh, here's a photo!"

Antoine pulled out a picture, a wallet-sized school picture: a little boy in a stripped polo shirt grinning at the camera. He was missing his two front teeth, and looked very proud of the fact. "LeMar, first grade," Antoine read the date, and passed it over to Preston.

"I kept all these things. Here's one of Jamila." Antoine passed over a second photo. An older girl, probably early teens with dark hair done in braids and equally dark skin was smiling, her expression slightly reserved. "She had braces, and was feeling pretty self-conscious about it," Antoine explained.

He continued to ramble on for a minute, then paused, apparently noticing Preston's perplexed expression.

"What, Prep?"

Preston leafed through the drawings, noticing a few school papers in the stacks. "What do you mean littles?" He asked, passing the stack back.

"Oh!" Antoine laughed. "From Big Brothers, Big Sisters! I volunteered with them for years! Hell, I was actually working on my application to become a foster parent before things happened, you know, and you moved in."

Preston stared at him, open-mouthed. "You... what?"

"Sure! Kids are great! They're a lot of fun, and there's a lot of good kids out there that all they need is a chance. So that's why I volunteered and all. Mentoring, helping with school work, going to things like class plays when the parents couldn't make it. I loved it!"

Preston sat down on the floor, stretching his legs out as he looked through the box. "You never told me about any of that."

"Yeah? Well I'm not really one to talk about myself. I mean, how's that even come up in conversation anyhow? And I didn't want you to feel guilty because I wasn't doing that after you moved in. Priorities kinda shifted, you know? I told 'em I had a family member I needed to take care of, and wouldn't be as available."

"How long did you do that for?" Preston asked as he browsed through a set of photos of Antoine and yet another child at the zoo.

"Oh, 'bout ten years or so? I dunno, really. Once I got my pilot's license, I kept thinking about how much I loved it when my dad would take me flying, and I thought: I want to help other kids who might've been in the same boat as me."

Preston passed the photos over to Antoine, who carefully set them to the side.

"I always kinda wondered what it would be like to adopt, and all," he admitted. "That's why I was working on my foster parent screening. There's a lot of background checks, even more than for Big Brothers Big Sisters. After I left work at the plant, I'd usually be with my Little, unless we had a meeting or we were doing a get-together at the Lucky Lady. But some nights, I'd skip that, because I like spending time with the kids and it was important to 'em. Lotta work, but totally worth it!"

Preston looked at Antoine, seeing his playful housemate in a new light. He'd never pictured Antoine the sort to look after children. At times, he he doubted Antoine's ability to take care of a plant. The fact that they had a man come to mow the lawn and tend to the hedges seemed to support that fact.

And yet, the more he thought about it, the more he could see Antoine in such a role. Hadn't Antoine been there for him? Not in any sort of pressuring way, but as a stable, and supportive influence?

Antoine was rambling a bit as he sorted through the box, a trip down memory lane. "I kinda tabled all that for right now," Antoine confessed. "I need to think about you too, but, if you don't mind, I'm probably going to get back into it once things normalize again."

Preston wasn't sure what to say to that. Children were never his thing. He didn't mind them, from a safe distance, but the idea of being up close and personal with the little beasts made him distinctly uncomfortable. They weren't something he'd ever been exposed to.

"Uhhh," he replied, hesitating.

Antoine shrugged. "Don't need to answer that right away, but I do plan to get back into being a Big. I miss it, and you seem to be doing pretty well yourself these days. I don't think it'll be a big deal. But hey, we can talk more about it later." Antoine lifted the photo of little LeMar and beamed at it with an almost paternal pride. "I miss these guys!"

With that, they went back to sorting, Antoine smiling quietly to himself.


	18. A Fate Worse Than Death

Preston Tucci stood in his closet, trying to find the best suit-and-tie combination for the night's wear. He knew better than to ask his housemate, Antoine, for advice. On one hand Antoine would confess that he wasn't much of a fashionista. On the other, he'd tell Preston anything looked sharp. Very complimentary, but not always objective or helpful.

The Harvest Ball. A fancy fundraiser dinner that happened every October. There'd by the typical events: a banquet, silent auction, probably a raffle. The Plateau City Nuclear Plant had made a contribution. Preston, naturally, was expected to attend. He had the option of bringing a "plus one" on his ticket, an offer Antoine politely declined.

 _That fancy-pants stuff's not really my bag_ , Antoine confessed. Preston understood. He felt the same way about Antoine's mountain biking invites. If he could politely avoid it, then he would graciously decline.

On more than one occasion he'd had Riley make a call from his Rolodex of so-called companions of the female persuasion: beautiful women who offered their company in exchange for a lovely fee. It was well worth it to Preston. It allowed him to maintain his public image, and avoid hangers-on. Preston rolled his eyes as he buttoned his coat. That "Most Eligible Bachelor" article in the society pages his first year as CEO had set the tone for most of his public career.

 _Now you've gone from shy Mister Eligible to a player, with a baller car!_ Antoine laughed.

 _Well, be that as it may, the Harvest Ball was at the Windforth Hotel, and that would be a nightmare to drive to_. It was located downtown, where parking was a precious commodity indeed.

Preston was taking the bus.

He gave himself a final check in the mirror, and added a bit more gel to his hair, ruffling it up in a way that looked both natural, and chic. He had opted for a red and gold tie, one that went well with the ring on his left hand. The ring Antoine had proposed with.

It didn't look like a traditional engagement ring, or even a wedding band for that matter. Antoine, ever suave, had made sure the piece was designed to look as much like a fashion ring as anything. So, you know, people don't have to know anything until we decide to tell 'em, Antoine explained, holding up his own naked hand. And that's why I'm going au natural for now. Because you know the day I show up with a ring, Sharon's going to be all over that!

Preston tugged his jacket down, straightening the line at his shoulders, gave Antoine a kiss, and said his goodbyes.

It wasn't a long walk to the bus stop. Antoine lived on a side road that eventually looped into a neighborhood. The main road was part of the red line. Easy enough. He'd be able to get a ride in and back without much effort. Preston glanced at his watch as he sat down in the covered stop. Plenty of time.

* * *

Windforth Hotel was like so many other urban hotels that hosted both guests and events. It wasn't one of the most ornate, but there was still that sense of upscale decor, the modern minimalist statement accented by clean lines, dark wood, and granite tiles.

Preston followed the signs to the Hudson Room, a large banquet hall attached to a bar. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and silver drapery at the corners of the room broke up the sense of edges. White supports, molded to look like grooved pillars framed the space.

A slightly elevated presentation floor graced the far wall. It wasn't a stage, more a set of three wide steps, tiers that led to a raised and carpeted level. A presentation screen dominated the back of the alcove. A podium stood off to the side. Mounted on the podium was the name of the event, the hosting organization, and major donors.

Preston had to confess it all ran together. Charities. It certainly seemed like there were a lot of them.

He stopped at the check in, received his seating assignment and a place holder with his name printed in gold ink. Table eight, more or less center of the room. Several other guests were already there, seated and chatting amount each other. Preston made his way over and sat down. He promised himself he wouldn't look at his watch. In a few minutes, after he'd made enough small talk to be polite, he'd go get himself a drink.

* * *

Preston laughed, and hoped it sounded natural. The woman took his arm and escorted him back to their table. "It's not often I find a man with a sense of humour such as yours, and developed so young!"

"Yes, well, they always did tell me I had a dry wit," Preston replied, holding the chair for the elderly lady, then sitting down himself. _What luck that the seat next to me would've not been claimed_ , he thought sarcastically. And just his luck again that this person would've decided to latch on to him so.

Preston's polite attempts to excuse himself had failed each and every time, to the point that she'd decided to join him at his table, rather than stay at her own.

The woman introduced herself as Margo. She was very forward, dressed in this elaborate cheetah-print coat over an elegant black dress, with matching cheetah hat. Her jewelry was all in tones of gold, and black. Around her throat a necklace of heavy pearls, multiple strands that poured down the front of her dress. Her ear rings were huge hammered gold disks, curving slightly towards her neck.

Both wrists and fingers were adorned with gold and black jewelry. On her right hand she wore a statement piece, an amber ring nearly as long as her finger, and twice as wide.

Her makeup was not overdone, though her lips were that intense shade of red Preston suspected was reserved only for little old ladies. Barely coming midway up his chest, she had a mischievous twinkle in her faded brown eyes. Despite the lines on her face, she moved with a spry bounce to her step, managing easily to keep up with Preston's younger and longer stride.

His attempts at distancing himself all evening had failed. At this point, Margo's companionship was unavoidable.

Preston broke his own rule to steal a quick peak at his watch over dinner. Dessert, then two more hours, and he'd be free.

He put on his most charming smile, and braced himself.

* * *

"Well you see, Honey," Margo continued over yet another glass of wine she was rapidly emptying, "I know for a fact you're here by yourself. The night's still young, don't tell me you turn in to a pumpkin at midnight."

"No, no, nothing like that," Preston replied, shifting uncomfortably as the server placed a cup of coffee in front of him.

Coffee, the universal signal that the evening was drawing to a close, and soon would be time for the guests to start seeing themselves out.

"Well," Margo replied, curling her long fingers around Preston's arm, "it would be positively rude for a young man to deprive an old lady such as myself of such fine and handsome company so early. You wouldn't want to be rude, would you?" There was a slight edge to her voice Preston hadn't noticed before, a certain warning tone.

"Ah, no, wouldn't want that at all," he agreed, hastily turning his attention to his coffee.

"There's my smart fellow," she said, giving his arm a squeeze. "Oh, my lord, your muscles are amazing! I'd best you have the most wonderful pectorals too. Dear, my wine appears to have run dry." She glanced around for a server. "Excuse me a moment, and don't you even think about going anywhere. I promise you I'll be right back."

Preston took a moment to snap a quick picture of her with his phone, and text Antoine.

 _This crazy old lady won't leave me alone! She keeps hitting on me!_

A few seconds later Antoine's reply buzzed in.

 _Prep, that's Margo Rimbauer-Hallisy!_

 _Who?_

 _Jeez! Heir to Rimbauer fortune. Crazy rich. Known for getting what she wants._

 _Great. She's coming back. Got to go._

 _Good luck!_

Margo, glass of wine in hand, slid into the chair beside Preston, inching ever so much closer as she did. Preston could smell the faint scent of the her facial powder. A combination of talc and roses. Definitely an old lady smell. He tried not to shy away.

"Well, Margo, I wanted to say thank you for the pleasure of you company this evening. I'd love to stay longer, but I think they're about to start kicking us out any minute. I should be going." He started to push his chair back.

Margo traced a finger down the side of his jaw. "Oh, why would you want to do that? The night's still young, and this is a hotel, darling. You honestly think I'd be traveling at this hour? No. I've the most beautiful suite on the top floor. Too much room for little me, but perfect for two." She winked.

Preston twitched slightly.

"I see." He licked his lips, and wondered whether it was the caffeine or pure fear that was making his heart race. "Excuse me a minute, my phone just buzzed."

Margo smiled, her expression deceptively sleepy. "Of course, darling."

Preston turned his back to her and hunched over his phone. I need your help! He typed frantically. Get me out of here!

He pocketed his phone, not waiting to see Antoine's reply. Putting on his most charming smile he stood, and offered a hand to Margo. The lobby has the most beautiful gas fireplace. Care to sit for a few minutes then, if you are in hurry?

Margo slipped one arm around his waist. "Ah, a romantic I see," she purred, letting him lead.

* * *

Rigel Vought, "Riley" to her friends was sitting in her small apartment, already in her pajamas, binge watching one of her favorite shows when her phone rang.

A quick glance at the screen revealed the caller. Rigel groaned, but answered.

"Hello?"

"Riley! Hey, it's me! What are you wearing?"

Rigel bit back the snappy reply a split second before it left her lips. "What's it to you, Antoine?"

"Look, we gotta go extract our boy! Preston's corned by this rich lady at Windforth. You know Margo Rimbauer?"

It was a name Rigel had heard before, and knew from reading her tabloid magazines. Margo's exploits, and her fondness for 'pretty young men' were well known. "Oh, good lord, her?"

"Yeah! We gotta get Preston out of there before the unspeakable happens! So put on something super nice! I'll pick you up."

Rigel wondered what on earth she was agreeing to, but before she'd even thought it through she'd said yes, and disconnected. Someone owes me big for this, she decided.

It took her very little time to throw on a red dress and some makeup.

Rigel was at the front steps of her apartment when a familiar black Cadillac CT6 pulled up. She recognized it at once as Preston's, and was more than a little surprised when Antoine pushed the passenger door open. "Come on," he urged. "Get in!"

"Why are you driving Preston's car?" she asked as she slid into the passenger seat.

"That's not the issue right now," Antoine replied. He shifted into gear and started towards town. "So, let's go over this. I get there, you go in, pull the jealous girlfriend shtick or improv something. Then you grab our boy, and we go!"

"What about you?" Rigel asked, setting her purse by her feet. "Where do you fit in to all this."

"Me? I'm the getaway driver!"

Rigel gave a humorless laugh. "I don't think so, Radson. You're coming with me."

Antoine gestured to his Hawaiian shirt and camouflage printed cargo shorts. "I can't go into a swanky joint looking like this."

Rigel smiled smugly. "You should've thought of that beforehand. If I go in, you go in. We're in this together."

Antoine pursed his lips, brow furrowing. He looked on the verge of arguing, then thought better of it. "Fine," he said with a huff. "Fine."

* * *

Antoine dropped the car with the Valet and followed Rigel. She moved with a grace and style that fit the mood. Red dress swirling about her legs, purse slung over her shoulder, she swept into the elegant lobby of the Windforth Hotel as if she were a queen. It took only a second for her eyes to latch onto Preston, sitting on the hearth of a gas fireplace with Madam Rimbauer-Hallisy on his arm.

She gave gave Antoine's sleeve a tug. "Let me to the talking," she whispered. "Now follow me."

Antoine nodded. "Not a problem, Riley. Not a problem at all."

Rigel strode up to Preston without preamble, or salutation. "There you are! I've been trying to reach you for the past hour! Did your phone die or something!?"

Preston's initial surprise at Rigel was genuine, then he saw Antoine slouching alone behind her. The light dawned.

He pulled out his phone and pretended to look at it. "Yes, dead as a doorknob. What's wrong?"

"It's mom, she's in the hospital. We need to get over there!"

Preston clapped a hand to his mouth. "Oh my god, it's not serious, is it?"

Rigel put her hands on her hips, the stance of annoyance. "Serious enough that they took her to the ER. They're running tests now, they still don't know what happened."

Margo Rimbauer looked up at Rigel, eyes wide. "I didn't know you had a sister," she remarked, regarding Preston up and down.

Preston opened his mouth to reply, but Margo cut him off, pointing to Antoine. "And who is that fellow there?"

Rigel glanced over her shoulder, and gave Antoine a faint smirk unseen by the old woman, but not missed by Preston. "That's our idiot brother. We don't talk about him much," she replied.

She reached down and grabbed Preston by the wrist. "Come on, Preston! We have to go. Terribly sorry to interrupt your evening," she added, giving Margo a little bow. "Truly I am."

Preston barely had time to say goodbye to the elderly lady as Rigel shepherded him towards the door.

"'Idiot brother?'" Antoine whispered, clearly annoyed. "I thought we'd agreed to go with the jealous girlfriend thing!"

"'Or improv,'" Rigel whispered as she hauled Preston through the double doors before releasing him. "You said 'jealous girlfriend' or improvise. I chose the latter."

Antoine gave a snort of annoyance and folded his arms across his chest while they waited for the car.

* * *

Preston removed his tie and set it next to him on the back seat. He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, leaning back. "Rigel, thank you. I owe you a debt of gratitude for that. I will replay you, believe me."

Rigel smiled innocently. "Oh, it was worth it in its own way, but thank you sir. It is my job, after all."

Preston rested an arm across the seat back. "Not that part, Miss Vought. Tonight, you went above and beyond. And it is truly, deeply appreciated."

He shifted his focus, looked into the rear view mirror, meeting Antoine's eyes. "Do you mind putting on some music, Antoine? It feels too quiet in here."

Antoine glanced back. "Awww, your music's all pop modern," he whined, but he didn't refuse. "S'cuse me, Riley," he said, reaching across her seat and opening the glovebox. He pulled out an MP3 player and connected it to a cable. One hand on the wheel, one hand on the player, and his attention darting between the two he quickly scrolled the the playlists.

"Okay, we're going to listen to this one," he decided.

"Which one?" Preston asked from the back seat.

"It's called 'Work Mix.' That sounds safe enough."

Rigel said nothing, but Preston noted the way her eyes darted between him and Antoine, pausing a second to linger on his left hand. She was subtle as she scanned Antoine's hand, but not enough that it escaped Preston's attention.

Antoine pulled up in front of her apartment building, and threw the car in park. Rigel bade them both goodnight and started to get out of the car.

Antoine reached up, lightly touching her hand.

"Hey, Riley?"

She froze, and looked down at him. "Yes, Antoine?"

Antoine paused, struggled with words for a second. "Yeah, I just wanted to say that was really awesome what you did for us tonight, and I couldn't have done it without you. I know we didn't start off on a good note, but, yeah, I really appreciate what you did tonight. And keeping this guy on task too! Because lord knows your a lot better at it than I ever was. So, I don't know if it means anything to ya, but thank you!"

Rigel smiled. She couldn't help it. The slight and genuine curve of her lips as she looked into Antoine's honest eyes. "You're welcome, Antoine... and Mister Tucci, sir. I'm glad to help."

With that, she shut the door, and left without a backward glance.

Antoine heard Preston shift his weight in the back seat.

"Do you think she knows?" Preston asked.

"Knows about what?" Antoine asked, a bit perplexed.

"About us," Preston replied.

Antoine shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "You know her better than I do. I guess it doesn't really matter. She knows we carpool sometimes, but me driving your car might raise a few more questions. Ah well, whatever. At least you're not stuck in the penthouse suite with Mrs. Rimbauer, eh?"

Preston shuddered, then laughed. "That would've been rough."

"And hard to get out of!" Antoine added. "Maybe you shouldn't go to these things solo anymore."

He pulled into their driveway, and waited for the garage door to open.

Preston gave Antoine's shoulder a squeeze. "Who are you suggesting I bring along?" The tone was playful, flirty.

Antoine grinned. "I dunno! Probably not me, but hey, who knows? We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, eh, _Mister Tucci?_ " He turned off the engine and hopped out, holding the door for Preston.

"That we will, _Mister Radson,_ " Preston replied.

Antoine tilted his head. "Oh! There's an idea!"

"Huh? What's that?"

Antoine held up his hands, as if pantomiming a banner. "Radson-Tucci! That's got an aristocratic ring to it, eh? Like Rimbauer-Hallisy, but better! Preston and Antoine Radson-Tucci! What do you think? Because Preston Radson just sounds weird, though I guess Antoine Tucci could work, but I'm not sure."

"You're already thinking of last names?" Preston asked as he followed Antoine inside.

"Hey, we gotta start sometime. But yeah, honestly I've been thinking about it for a while. Like about the time I decided I wanted to marry you. A guy can dream, right?" He leaned over, and ruffled Preston's hair affectionately.

"This is better than a dream," Preston replied. "For the record, I like the way that sounds too. Thanks again for coming to my rescue. If I'd been unable to escape, well, that would've been a nightmare."

Antoine gave Preston a jab with his elbow. "A nightmare for some, but I have a feeling for you it would've been a fate worse than death. But don't worry, that's what I'm here for. And Riley too. We got your back, Prep! You're our boy! And I'm never letting you go. Ever. Because for me, that would be my own fate worse than death right there."


	19. Antoine's Childhood

Antoine Radson sat in the small waiting room, leafing through a copy of The Plateau City Review, but he was barely even noticing the pages. He wasn't used to feeling nervous, not like this. He tried to ignore the voice on TV, and reviewed in his own mind what he was going to say.

A door beside the receptionists' window opened, and a woman stepped into the waiting room. She had a soft figure, and a warm, approachable face. She wore a colorful blouse, and a pair of simple slacks. Antoine noticed her shoes were athletic wear. "Mister Radson?" She called.

"Here," Antoine replied setting the magazine down. He got up and followed her into the back offices.

"My name's Elisabeth Rouse, Liz. Welcome!" The woman led him to her room, and gestured him in. There were two arm chairs, and a love seat at one end. Shelves with various books, fidget toys and a few plush animals lined the walls. Her desk and roller chair were at the other end, a small work station complete with notebooks, and a laptop computer.

"Please, have a seat."

"Thanks," Antoine replied. He was stiffly over to the love seat and sat down in the corner. He looked over to the end table where a box of tissues sat next to a little box of fidgets. At least, that's what he called them. Small toys to entertain the hands, various shapes, sizes and textures.

"Help yourself," Liz offered, reading his body.

"Thanks," Antoine repeated. He rummaged around and pulled out a koosh ball: a toy made of thin rubber cords that extended from a core, it looked a bit like fur. He tossed it from hand to hand. It had a comfortable weight, a satisfying feel.

Liz walked over to her desk and opened a draw. She removed a digital recorder, and an SD card. "Do you mind if I record our session?"

Antoine eyed the recorder uncertainly. "I... uh..." he hesitated.

"If not, that's fine, but let me reassure you it will be kept completely confidential. I'll still be taking notes, of course, but I like to be able to replay our conversations."

Antoine shook his head. "No, that's okay. I'm fine with it."

"Okay." She set it on the coffee table and took a seat in the arm chair adjacent to him. "And, of course, if there's anything you don't feel comfortable having recorded, of you change your mind for whatever reason, we can always turn it off."

Antoine nodded. "Okay; gotcha. Thanks."

Liz lifted the recorder, popped up the microphone and turned it towards him. She pushed a button on the side. A little red LED blinked on. "We're recording, this is Doctor Liz Rouse, with Antoine Radson. This is our first session. Antoine has agreed to be recorded for this session; is that correct?"

"Yes," Antoine replied, staring at the recorder, squeezing the koosh ball. "It is." He tugged at the rubber fur nervously, drumming his feet on the floor.

Liz gave him a reassuring smile. She lifted her stenography pad to her lap. "Alright, Antoine, let's begin. Please, tell me a bit about your self."

"I'm not really sure where to begin," Antoine replied, squeezing the ball between his hands.

"Well, let's start with why you're here. What brought you to come visit me today, Antoine?"

Antoine licked his lips and tried to cease the restless tapping of his feet. He focused on the ball in his hands. "Well, I met this guy, and I really love him. I proposed to him, he said yes." Antoine paused, thinking.

"Well those are two good things," Liz prompted.

"Yeah, they are. The thing is, I have no idea how to be a good husband. And I'd kinda like kids someday, but I'm probably totally incapable of being a responsible parent. So... it's not like I'm having cold feet. I just have some stuff, you know, and I want to try and work through it."

Liz nodded. "Does your fiancé know you're here?"

Antoine shook his head, wrapping the strands of rubber around his fingers. "Nah. I didn't tell him. I said I was just going out for a bit to clear my mind, I wasn't sure how to bring it up."

Liz jotted down a few notes. "How does he feel about the idea of therapy?"

"Oh, he's been through it himself. He's pretty open to it, honestly. I just... I don't want him thinking my fucked-up-ness is something he caused. I'm a bit of a head case, more than he knows, honestly. I haven't told him too much about my childhood, my upbringing, if you could call it that."

"Why not?"

"Because it probably would upset him."

"So why don't you tell me then?" Liz asked. Start at the beginning. "What's your earliest memory, Antoine?"

Antoine chuckled, but there was no humor in his tone. "Earliest memory? Well that would probably be when the police raided the flop house where my mom was staying."

* * *

I really don't remember the place well. I was about two at the time. I don't remember too much. I don't think I was abused exactly, mostly neglected. Probably they dumped Cheerios in a dog dish, water in another, and let nature take it's course. Sorry, trying to be funny, but I guess this really isn't something to joke about.

My mom, I don't know anything about her really. All I know is that she was underage herself. She was twelve, maybe thirteen when she got pregnant, and Lord can only guess at who my father might've been. She was a runaway, and whether she started off doing sex and drugs, whether she was trafficked, or whether that was a coping mechanism, who knows right? As a minor herself, those filed were sealed and expunged years ago.

That was down state, or maybe New Jersey. I guess that doesn't matter much either. After the raid, I was put into the foster system, and transferred here.

 _"Tell me what you remember about the raid."_

Okay, well, I remember everybody started yelling. There were a lot of people in that house. It seems huge when I remember it. Lots of people. There was pounding at the door, and everyone's panicking, grabbing stuff, hiding it, flushing it. As if that would make a difference.

Then the police knocked the door off the hinges and came in. I got knocked by one of the housemates. He didn't mean to, I think, but he was trying to get out the fire escape. I ran and hid under the bed. Packed myself against the back wall as far under as I could get.

I remember them looking around with flashlights, grabbing people, hauling them away. This one officer - man, I can still remember his face! - he lifts up the sheet that covered the bed. "We've got a baby in here!" he yelled.

I don't remember every detail, it's a bit blurry. They tried coaxing me out, and I wasn't budging. Eventually one officer lifted up the bed, it was just a cheap wire frame thing, and another grabbed me. I tried to fight. I screamed, I cried for my mom.

I saw her on the floor as they were carrying me out, an officer pinning her to the ground. Or maybe he was checking to make sure she was still alive. Maybe both. I honestly don't know.

The next few years are a bit hazy. I was in the system longer than most because little white kids because I was a "crack baby," or at least that's what potential adopters probably thought. That, and I was passed the cute little baby stage.

I saw pictures of me in my case file. I was a homely little thing when they found me: dirty, sunken face, hollow eyes, stringy hair. Not starving, but not thriving either. Alive, that's about the best I can say.

 _"What else do you remember from your childhood?"_

Oh, where to begin? Well, my mom never took me back, and her family didn't want me. As far as I figured out, her parents wanted to focus on getting her straightened out, into rehab and all that, and didn't have time for a drug baby.

 _"Do you think you're a drug baby? That's the second time you've made such a reference."_

Nah... yes... maybe? I dunno. I guess it's another attempt at a joke, but it's not a good one. I mean, you remember the studies in the eighties and nineties that said babies born to drug addicts would grow up to have all sorts of disabilities and behavioral problems? They debunked that now, but back then I'm sure it had an impact on who adopted me.

The foster home, it wasn't bad, they tried their best. But it was hard. And by the time I was adopted I already knew where I was and what was going on. I was very nervous with my first family, and every time someone knocked on the door I would hurl myself under the bed or behind the couch. Any place I could think of to hide.

I thought the cops were coming back. It must've made things tough on my first parents.

To be honest though, I don't really want to go through the list of the various homes. None of them worked out. It's pretty much the same story every time:

Go to a new home, stay a few months, get put back in the system. Lather, rinse, repeat.

 _"So no home really felt like a family to you?"_

Nope _._

 _"Not even one?"_

 _Antoine shifted his weight._

Okay, yeah, you're right. There was the one, Debbie and Marcus. I've even reconnected with them on social media and in real life. We've met up a few times. I think of them as my parents, but there's a lot of catching up to do. I was eleven, twelve when I lived with them. That's what we think anyhow, I didn't have a real birth certificate. My mom apparently had me on her own and never reported it.

Anyhow, I've reconnected with them, yes; but there's about twenty five years of backstory between then and now. And, I guess, to be perfectly honest, I'm a little nervous of getting too close emotionally, even though I do think of them as my parents.

Debbie, she worked, and Marcus was a helicopter pilot. He flew tour choppers, and used to take me up with him.

Once my feet left the ground, I felt a sort of peace like I'd never known before. I realize that flying helicopters is what I wanted to do for a living. Marcus even showed me the basic controls, not that I ever touched them of course.

I thought I'd found my forever home. It would up not being that way.

Marcus had heart trouble, he wound up needing a bypass. I didn't know much about it at the time, but Debbie explained it as best she could. With him out of work, she had to work extra shifts for the money.

They didn't want to leave me home alone, I was only twelve after all, so we decided I'd stay with Nana and Poppa, my grandparents - Marcus's parents - up in Schenectady.

Child Services was not okay with that.

They said since Marcus's parents weren't pre-screened, and I was not formally adopted yet, though Debbie and Marcus had been filling out the paperwork until he got sick, that I had to go back into the system.

Child Services told Debbie and Marcus that I'd got back to them when they were able to care for me. I told them that was a lie. I threw a complete fit, went pretty off the rails, honestly. Little scrawny blond kid trying to fight off these beefy social workers to stay with my parents. I didn't want to leave, I loved them!

But, well, you know how that went, and I ended back in the system.

It was about then, honestly, that I really started developing "behavioral problems." I became one of those troubled kids you read about. They sent me to state mandated counseling. The therapist there said I had "attachment issues, abandonment issues," and a host of other things.

I think there was a personality disorder in there as well. I'm not sure. I didn't believe it. I still don't.

I started struggling in school. Especially in subjects that required reading. These days they'd probably test me for a learning disorder or something, but back then it was viewed by the teachers as obstinance.

That, and I tried to make myself out to be the class clown.

Instead of saying "hey, maybe he's got some sort of reading problem," they'd just chalk it up to a bad work ethic and apathy.

My reputation continued to go downhill. In my last home, I ditched them on a vacation in Hawaii. I caught a cab down to the beach and spent the entire day with the surfers.

It was great! It was the first time I truly felt happy since being in the air, you know? I can still remember how warm the sun felt, how clear the water was. These guys were really chill, even let me try with their boards. I wasn't good, but I had a great time...

... until the cops and my foster parents showed up. And then I was back in the system the next week. That was my last foster home.

I went back in the group facility. That's when I started skipping school. I'd either disappear at the bus stop, or I'd wait till I got to school and take off running. You'd think they'd try catching me, but I guess it wasn't that important.

I started getting into petty street crime. Nothing major, no drugs or anything. Just little things, you know, making money. I was a scrawny thirteen year old kid. I blended in pretty well to the rough parts of town.

I actually started my first "job," if you want to call it that.

 _"What did you do?"_

Well, it's one of these unbelievable stories. Somehow I got the reputation for being trustworthy on the streets. The sort of person who would watch for cops while someone else took the rims off a car, or busted a window to lift the stereo. Back then, stereo-jacking was a big trade. These days, most of those things don't play outside of the car they were installed in. Security features, I guess. But back then, things were different.

I'd keep a look out, and then they'd slide me a few bills for my trouble. Not much, but it was definitely something, and big money for a kid like me!

Well, somehow I got in with this group who owned a "garage," and I use the term loosely. It was a chop shop near where the alley where I'd hang out when I wanted to rest a bit.

They flagged me down and asked if I wanted to make some decent cash. I said "of course!" So they got me into the shop, and I'd work pulling apart the small parts of the cars. Nothing major, but enough to definitely be illegal. Not that they cared, and not that I did either.

I probably would've graduated to grand theft auto if it hadn't been for that fateful day, on a miserable January morning.

It was just after winter break. I decided to skip the first day of school. I thought a snow day would be fun. Do you remember that thaw that happened about fifteen years ago? The one that that brought record heat to New York in January?

Of course it was that day I skipped. It felt warm, felt like spring! I was loving it... then it started to rain.

I don't mean that gentle pitter-patter stuff. I mean hard rain, miserable rain. The sort that makes you cold to the bone. I was walking down the street, wishing I'd actually gone to school and wondering if my feet were going to freeze off when I saw a church up ahead.

 _"A church? That's very symbolic."_

I know, right? The Lutheran Church of the Redeemer. So I decide, screw it. I've never been a religious person, but I needed someplace to warm up before I caught hypothermia... or caught it worse... and this seemed like the only safe option.

I let myself in and sat down in the back pew, trying to thaw my hands.

It was a huge place, beautiful. Looked more like a cathedral to me than a simple church. There were ten stained glass windows in the nave, sanctuary, whatever you want to call it. Each one depicting a scene from the Stations of the Cross.

There was one on the north transept, one on the south, and one right behind the altar. After a while I warmed up a bit, and started moving. I walked along, looking at the windows. I realized they started at Two, and ended at Fourteen. That confused me. I kept looking for One.

As I approached the crossing, that spot before the alter I heard a voice.

"We generally don't see children in here at this hour."

I looked over, and sitting in the front row of pews was this woman. The pastor. She had this ageless face; like she looked young, but also not. Like an angel or something. It was hard to get an idea how old she was. Probably about the age I am now. White vestments, colorful stole, the whole ensemble.

When she spoke to me, I felt a surge of fear, that I was clearly not supposed to be here and she'd turn me out, or worse, call the police.

But she didn't do either of those things!

Instead, she beckoned me closer. "Come, sit," she said gently.

I noticed the pew up front was padded, not like the one I'd been in at the back. "I'll get the seat wet," I replied, tucking my hands under my arms. "I don't want to ruin it."

"What can be damped, can also be dried," she answered.

Our conversation that followed, I can't remember the exact words, but again that's not really important. Her name was Pastor Julie, and she was the pastor for the church. We talked about a lot of things, time seemed to melt away. So too did my fear that she'd be mad at me. She seemed, if anything, a little sad as I told her my story. At least the abridged parts I felt like sharing right then.

She'd come to learn more over time.

We talked. She even gave me some cookies and a box of juice from the fellowship hall downstairs. She even put my wet coat in the drier! She asked me why I was skipping school, and what I was planning to do with my life.

I told her the truth, that I was pretty much on my own.

She didn't tell me to get my butt back to school, and she didn't raise any false hopes of me finding a family either.

"If you're going to start your journey so young," she told me, "you need a plan." She told me wanting to become a helicopter pilot wasn't enough. "Lots of people want things," she explained, "but you have to take the first step towards getting them."

 _"The whole, 'God helps those who help themselves' bit?"_

Yep, but she wasn't preachy about it. She was down to earth. Before I left, she showed me a picture on the wall, above the front door. Station One. I hadn't seen it when I came in.

So... I'm going to fast forward a bit, do you mind?

 _"Not at all, Antoine, this is your time."_

Cool. Thanks.

Okay, so Pastor Julie... she was who helped me through the worst spots. My chances of being adopted as a teen with "behavioral problems" were slim to none. My school didn't even think I was a student anymore, and I realized under New York State Law I could become my own person. They call it becoming an emancipated minor. Fourteen's awfully young, but in my eyes it beat rotting in foster care till they kicked me out at eighteen.

Pastor Julie? I couldn't have done it without her help!

 _"Why's that?"_

Well, to become emancipated, you first need to be able to prove financial independence. My money was cash only, I didn't have a bank account, and I didn't have a legit address aside from the group home. Pastor Julie let me use her place as my address. I was about to open my first bank account, and start depositing what I made on the street.

I had proof of income. I had a "legal address."

There was a lot of finagling on my part, I'm going to confess, but I'm pretty good at smooth talking. I can get my way. I might not be smart, but I know how people work, and I'm generally pretty good at telling them exactly what they need to hear.

I dropped out of school.

With a "residence," and a bank account that showed impressive income for a kid, and a clean criminal record, I was able to get my emancipation when I was fourteen. I didn't have a real home yet, but I didn't need to tell Child Services that. And, let's be honest, sometimes follow-up isn't all it should be. I guess I got lucky with the bureaucracy, you know?

That summer, I lived on the street. I camped out under an overpass most of the time.

 _"What did Pastor Julie think of that?"_

She worried about me, but she knew that I had to find my own path. As the weather got colder though, I would occasionally sleep on her back porch. It was enclosed, and there was a couch out there.

In winter I'd often find a thermos of hot cocoa and several heavy blankets on the couch. Heck, she even put a space heater out there for me!

 _"Did she offer this to you, or did you ask?"_

Neither. When it started getting cold she remarked one day after service that sometimes she "forgot" to lock her back porch. That whole, wink and a nod thing. I knew what she was implying. It saved both of us from having to ask or tell. I never went inside her house, but it was a true blessing knowing there was someone looking out for me.

I would occasionally "forget" a few five dollar bills on her porch, just like she "forgot" to lock the door.

I still worked at the chop shop, and started doing more intense maintenance and repairs. I learned how to drive too. When summer came around, I often worked late and slept at the yard in one of the old cars. The boss man had a pair of mean dogs, I think they were mutant Rottweilers or something. Anyhow, he told me I was welcome to crash in a car at his yard, but once he closed the gate and let the dogs out, I'd better stay in the car or the dogs would tear me to shreds.

I believed him too!

I tried stepping out one night to answer the call of nature, and whoa boy I was glad I was right next to the car. Those things ripped the bumper and mirrors off trying to get at me. Lesson learned, right?

When I was sixteen I bought my first car, but I didn't have a license. Granted I'd been driving for several years by then, but I needed to make it legal. Pastor Julie once again let me use her street address as my residence.

I took one of the shop cars to the the Department of Motor Vehicles for my road test - yeah, I drove to my own driving test - and I passed with flying colors.

Later, I bought that car. I still have her. I call her "Bessie." She's more rust than car now, probably was then too, but I now I'm going off on a topic.

Anyhow, Pastor Julie, she's the one who kept pushing me, holding out that carrot of becoming a chopper pilot as a carrot, and not letting me forget my dreams. With her gentle but insistent pressure, I went back to school, I got my high school G.E.D.

I invited her to my graduation, and she actually came! I was the proudest kid there!

She really helped me turn my life around. If she hadn't gotten involved, I'd never be where I am now. I would've have gone to flight school, I wouldn't have gotten a job, bought a house... met the love of my life... it's funny how things work out. If I hadn't skipped school that day, if if hadn't rained, who knows where I would've wound up, you know?

* * *

Liz nodded, as Antoine finished his story.

Antoine found he'd relaxed as he'd talked, his feet had stopped their restless tapping, the ball sat comfortably in his hands. "I guess that about sums up my origin tale," Antoine said, attempting to crack a joke. "What do you think?"

Liz set her notepad down next to the recorder. "I think you're a very self-motivated young man. Pastor Julie might've guided you, but she didn't do it for you. You did that all yourself, against the odds, and without having a family to direct you."

Antoine rubbed the back of his neck, and regarded the loose ball. "What do you think I should do about Preston though? My fiancé? I don't want to screw his life up."

"You're not going to 'screw that up,' Antoine," Liz replied, folding your hands. "He said yes, that alone should tell you something right there."

"It does, but it's complicated. We're not like a normal couple." Antoine glanced at the clock on Liz's desk. Her eyes followed his. "I guess that's a story for another day, huh."

"If you feel like coming back, and talking about it more, then yes; it definitely can be."

Antoine tossed the loose ball into the basket next to the couch. "I'd like that," he replied. "I think it'll help."

"That's what I'm here for," Liz replied. She stood up and switched off the recorder. The session was at an end. Antoine followed her out through the hallway to the waiting room where they said their goodbyes, then loped down the front steps to the street below.

He caught a bus, mind whirling as he watched the city scroll past. Pastor Julie... how long had it been since he'd talked to her? He wondered if she was still at the same address. I should send her a letter, he decided, and began writing it in his head.


	20. Untitled 2

**In Preston's Executive Office...**

Preston Tucci regarded the heap of documents at his fingertips with a grim feeling of helplessness. There was nothing he could to. The bill of sale papers for the helicopter, documents already approved by the Board of Trustees.

Technically, his signature was more a formality than anything else, just stating that he knew, and understood the chopper would be trading hands, and that the pilot's share would be bought out.

He'd tried - tried and failed - to keep the helicopter for Antoine's sake, if nothing else. There was no way though that they could justify the expense. Even doing nothing more than sitting in the hanger, the thing cost money. Maintenance, insurance, registration... nothing about owning a $1.5 million dollar machine was cheap.

Antoine's contract was somewhere in the heap, along with a photocopy of the amount that would be kicked back to his paycheck. Part of the buy-out clause.

Over the years that Antoine had worked there, a percentage of his gross salary was directly deducted and put towards the price of the helicopter over ten years, until he ultimately owned one tenth of the aircraft. If he had quit before his decade long payment period was up, he would've forfeited what he'd put into the aircraft. Same too if he'd been fired.

"Thank god for the buyout clause," Preston muttered, as he pulled the budget from the stack and regarded the numbers.

Antoine's salary was modest, and the direct seizure of his share took $15,000 per year. He'd been there over ten years. He owned his share of the chopper in full.

Naturally, the helicopter was worth less now than what it had been when he started his (forced) contributions. Preston didn't bother reading the back history. It seemed moot.

It never crossed Preston's mind to calculate what fifteen thousand times ten was.

Numbers were the last thing on his mind.

The emotional aspect dominated.

He glanced towards the shelf where he'd set his viola. It was a student model, the first full-sized viola he'd ever owned, neatly tucked in its case. Still a sound instrument, but nothing like his professional model back at their house. His 1984 Tulchinsky.

The cost of that fine instrument was more than Antoine's annual contribution to the chopper; not including the price of the bow. It was an investment he'd made and never once regretted. The sound, the colour, the way the instrument felt so natural in his hand. An extension of himself when he was playing.

Much like how Antoine felt in the air.

Though Antoine laughed, and seemed at peace with the decision, there was that look behind his eyes, a resolute sadness that would never be spoken aloud. Antoine accepted things, and moved on, but Preston could see it bothered him.

Antoine would never talk about that though, Preston knew.

There hadn't been lengthy discussions about Antoine's "Little Diva," the helicopter, and that somehow made things worse in Preston's mind. If they'd talked, if Antoine had ranted and raved, he would've at least understood that.

Instead, there had been one short conversation, with a follow-up a few days later. All Antoine had said was: _This is going to happen, so I might as well get over it because it's not going to change._

And that was that.

The matter was officially over.

Preston exhaled softly, and signed his fiancé's past dream away.

* * *

Preston received a note that Antoine had left early, an email that dinged to his inbox from Sharon herself. Preston opened it and read it before Rigel even had a chance to ask. He clicked on the subject, pulled his chair closer to his desk, and reached for his tea.

It had grown cold, again. It seemed he never had the chance to finish it while it was still warm. Preston debated asking Rigel to warm it, then changed his mind. Something would call him away before it was done, and the cycle would repeat itself.

Cold lemon tea; strong from sitting on his desk all day. At the very least, it quenched his thirst. He skimmed Sharon's email to get the gist, then read it a second time in case he'd missed anything.

Sharon's memo was quick, and to the point. He could hear the annoyance through her text.

 _Mister Radson left early again this week. This is starting to become a trend. Ordinarily I would route this through the proper channels, rather than bringing it to your attention directly. Given that he has worked closely with you in the past, I thought Sir you might wish to speak with him before I submit a write up to Human Resources._

Preston's jaw tightened, lean and impeccably manicured fingers tightening around the handle of his mug. He closed his eyes, and counted to ten.

The entire situation irritated him. If Antoine wasn't doing his job, that was a problem; but he wasn't particularly fond of Sharon's decision to skip directly over the intermediate management level and go straight to him. It seemed out of character for her, surprisingly unprofessional.

Preston's opened his word processing program. His deft hands flew over the keyboard, writing out a sharp-toned reply. He finished, regarded the piece and it's scathing tone, then deleted it. It was a trick he'd learned years ago. It got the irritation of his system, but saved him from saying something he might later regret.

Feeling calmer, if only marginally, Preston wrote a second letter, this time into email.

 _Dear Sharon,_

 _As much as I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, I feel it would be inappropriate for me to use whatever outside influence I might have in shepherding the personnel in your department. If you believe employee Antoine Radson's behavior warrants disciplinary action, you are absolutely green-lighted to do whatever you feel is necessary to correct the situation._

 _Thank you again for making me aware of these incidents. I trust you'll handle them with the skill I know you for._

 _Sincerely,_

 _P. Tucci._

The email automatically added his official signature and contact information. "I am really throwing Antoine to the wolves today," he thought morosely, and hit send.

* * *

 **At the Office of Doctor Elizabeth Rouse...**

Antoine Radson sat in the office of Doctor Elizabeth "Liz" Rouse, and squeezed the stress ball nervously between his calloused palms. He sat hunched over, knees on elbows, head lowered, shoulders square. A defensive posture to be sure.

Her office was as he remembered it: the plush chairs, her tiny administrative corner, the books and fidget toys around. This time he'd chosen a navy blue stress ball, the kind that can be squished in one's fist, but quickly expands as soon as the pressure's released.

A tape recorder sat on the low coffee table between them, red light indicating it was recording their session.

"So, Antoine, how've you been feeling since our last sessions? I know the first week we had to wrap up before you were able to talk about your fiancé, and we've not gotten back to that. Do you want to start there?"

Antoine crushed the stress ball so hard he was afraid it might rupture, mashing it between his hands so hard his forearms ached. He tapped his feet restlessly on the floor, and shook his head.

"Nah. Maybe. I dunno. I'm fine," he replied. "It's been a bad day though."

Liz folded her hands under her chin, tilting her face gently. "Why's that?" she asked.

"The transmission dropped out of the bottom of my car. Literally. I was backing out of the driveway, then there was this horrible sound, and crunch. There it was. So that's the end of Bessie. I was late today because I had to take the bus. I think my boss is pissed at me. Oh, and today was the day they officially bought me out of the chopper, so as of five this afternoon I'll no longer be a pilot."

Liz's face didn't change much, but there was a slight deepening in the creases around her eyes. Concern.

Antoine noticed.

"Yeah, I know. Quite the way to start a Wednesday. Usually I can leave pretty close to quitting time, but because I had to take public trans over here today, I had to leave earlier than usual. My boss, Sharon, saw me walking out with my coat. She looked like she was going to say something, so I ducked around a corner and took one of the back stairwells out." Antoine sighed. "I'm beginning to have reservations," Antoine confessed, kneading the ball between his hands.

"About?"

"Everything," he replied.

Liz gave him a reassuring smile. "Well, that narrows it down a little. Let's bring it down more. If you had to pick one thing on your mind, right now that you could fix with a magic wand, what would it be?"

Antoine chuckled. "That's easy!"

Liz leaned back in her chair, set her notepad on her lap. "Is it?"

"Oh yeah. I'd want to be the sort of person Preston deserves... and I'm not." Antoine ran a hand over the back of his neck, tapped his feet on the carpet, and began.

"Preston doesn't know I'm here. I haven't told him yet. I don't want him to know because he'd think it was something he'd done. I don't want to make him worry. The more I think about it though, the more I wonder if I haven't made a huge mistake in asking him to marry me. I love him, but sometimes love's not enough. There has to be more, you know? I'm not sure I can be who he needs.

"I'm used to living alone, and only being responsible for my own happiness. When we were just living together as housemates I knew if I really wanted to, I could've told him to move out. Once we're married, well, then I don't know what would happen. I don't want a divorce. Lately I've been wondering 'what the hell have I done?' I'm not good marriage material, at least not for him. He's so smart, and sensitive, and he tends to tackle problems head on. After a traumatic experience, he took initiative to get counseling, even decided to go on medication. It's helped too! Made a world of difference! He's back to being the same old Preston he used to be. He doesn't need me like he used to.

"What was the traumatic event?" asked Liz.

Antoine glanced at the recorder nervously. "Off the record?"

Liz leaned down and turned it off. "Absolutely. Your privacy is always protected here."

Squeezing the stress ball in one hand Antoine looked away. "You gotta promise you won't talk about it, okay?"

"Antoine, I'd never betray your trust like that. As long as you're not telling me you're planning to hurt yourself or someone else, my hands are tied."

He found he couldn't meet her eyes. "Promise?" he asked.

"Absolutely."

"Okay. I've never talked to anyone about this before. This is going to be hard for me." Antoine's feet were still, his focus entirely inward. Even the stress ball sat forgotten in his relaxed palm.

"Remember several years back there was that article in the paper about the rich energy tycoon Mister Burns getting kidnapped, and how the then-CEO of the nuclear plant, Thaddeus Dimas was somehow wrapped up in the mix, along with Preston and I?"

Liz nodded, indicating that yes, she'd read the short article in the paper.

"Well, here's the truth, that wasn't what happened at all." Antoine looked up, his eyes meeting hers for just a minute. "We're going on another trip down the rabbit hole. Are you okay with that?"

"Antoine, that's my job. Of course I am."

"Okay then, 'Alice,' here we go."

* * *

I'm not going to go into too much backstory, but I'll say this much. Burnsie and Mister Dimas had a business arrangement that went on for years in private. Mister Burns had a private shelter in the desert of North Tacoma, more like military doomsday bunker. He and Mister D. were out there to do business. I'd overheard Mister D. talking about it, how he was going out to Springfield to do business, and I begged him to let me come along. I have a good friend out there who I hadn't seen in a while, and it seemed like the perfect opportunity.

Little did we know we were being followed by none other than Rhodes, Mister Dimas's son, and Burns' own grandson.

Those two, they turned the bunker into a prison, locked everything down with us inside it. I spent the bulk of the time unconscious, but woke up for the grande finale.

 _"Which was?"_

Up in the main gallery, Mister Dimas' son had him on his back. I was sneaking up with Burnsie, following his lead. There was a shoot out. Preston took a bullet to the gut, and landed next to me. I was too weak then, and still pretty much in shock. All I could do was take his hand as we lay in his own blood. At the same time, Dimas' own son executed him, ISIS-style, with a shot to the heart.

So there I am, my boss is dead, my best friend's quite possibly dead, I'm soaked in blood that's not even mine, and the rest is all a blur. I was in the hospital for a while fighting blood poisoning. My friend, Waylon stayed with me.

We talked about all sorts of things. I learned his past, and he got to learn a good chunk of mine. He had a messed up past too: abusive step dad.

 _"That's awful! I had no idea!"_

Right? Well, the thing is, I've learned over the years in the foster system to put those bad things in a box, lock them away and bury them. It doesn't mean they're gone, it just means that I pretend they are.

I could joke about getting shot with an arrow a few weeks later, even show off the scar. A coping mechanism, I guess. To take away the seriousness of it all.

Preston? He wound up with post-traumatic stress disorder. He stopped eating much, lost a lot of weight. He looked like hell, and that's when I asked him to move in with me because I was worried about him.

Taking care of him? It helped me! It gave me someone other than myself to think about, so I could kind of ignore what I was going through.

 _"What were you going through?"_

Mister Dimas, my boss... our boss... he might not have been perfect but he didn't deserve to die like that. He wasn't a bad man. He made mistakes, but we all do. In many ways he was like a father to me, you know?"

 _"Honestly, Antoine, I don't know your perspective. Could you please explain your dynamic with Mister Dimas a bit more?"_

Mister Dimas, the Big D., Mister D... he looked out for me. Working at the nuclear plant as his pilot was the first important job I'd ever had. There was a lot for me to learn, and he took a personal interest in helping me.

One time, we had a formal event in New York City coming up, which he wanted me to fly him to, then attend with him. I told him I didn't have anything I could wear to that, so you know what he did?

He took me shopping! He said 'well then, Antoine, let's make sure you look the part!'

We went to this fancy department store, and he had me try on several different combinations. Finally we settled on this satiny-sheen suit coat for black tie events, a regular ensemble for the less formal, and a few blazers.

When I looked at the price tags, I almost fainted.

'Sir, there's no way I can afford this,' I told him. The next thing I know, he's whipping out his credit card and paying for everything! The suits, the shirts, pants, ties, even two pairs of cufflinks!

I'd never had anyone do that for me before!

I still have those suits, though I've had to get them let out a bit. I've put on some weight in the past ten years. I was about twenty five when I started working for him, still pretty thin. Not that you'd know that now, of course.

Mister Dimas did other things, nice things that he didn't have to do.

 _"Like what?"_

He taught me how to golf.

As his personal pilot, I pretty much went everywhere with him. Dimas liked to travel by chopper as much as possible. It made him feel important. Looking back I wonder if some of it was to keep me busy as well. Who knows? Either way, up and down the east coast, into the eastern Midwest; a different trip almost every weekend, sometimes twice a week.

When he'd meet with his business friends, they'd go golfing.

He brought me along, and taught me to caddy. I learned the names of the different clubs, what they were used for. I thought that's all I'd ever do, but I had no regrets, I enjoyed our time together. Then one day he shows up at my hotel room on a trip and says he can't find anyone to come with, so he asks me if I'd like to join him.

I'd never played golf before in my life.

He took me out to the driving range and paid the rental for my equipment. We spent all day there. Mister Dimas was patient, helpful, showed me how to properly hold a club, the stance and swing, everything!

From that day on, whenever he couldn't find a partner, he'd take me out to the driving range. One day he told me we weren't going to the range. Instead, I'd be joining him on the actual course.

Quite a different experience, but I picked it up quickly. When I struggled, he showed me how to improve my technique, as well as basic course etiquette. Each time, he paid for all my gear rental.

One day, at the plant, he comes over to the hanger while I was doing my monthly checks on the Little Diva, the helicopter, with a full bag of clubs slung over his shoulder. He takes them off, and hands the bag to me.

'These are for you, Antoine,' he tells me. 'I bought a new set, and I don't need these anymore.' They were his old clubs, still in great shape, and by no means cheap. I didn't know what to say.

'When you and I travel, I want you to be sure to bring these along,' he told me. 'That way, we can play a few rounds together without having to pay for rentals.' He'd also bought me a pair of shoes as well. I guess he remembered my size from suit shopping.

* * *

Antoine exhaled and lapsed into silence. He folded his hands around the stress ball and stared at his shoes. After a moment, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, pushing away the hot tears that threatened to overflow.

"I never even got to go to his funeral. I was in Springfield, in the hospital, and when I got back everyone was playing the 'business as usual' game. I never even got a chance to say goodbye. He was like a father to me."

Antoine sniffed, rubbing his hand over his face and beard. He was never one to cry, though at times he came uncomfortably close. "Preston was a complete train wreck. I mean, he was utterly messed up over everything. I've seen that look before in the system. He's my friend, so I asked if he'd like to move in with me. It was supposed to just be a short-term thing, but it turned into more."

Liz nodded, thoughtfully.

Antoine noticed her eyes flick towards the recorder. "Oh, go ahead and turn it back on," he muttered, voice thick with unspoken emotion.

Without a word, Doctor Liz Rouse did just that.

Antoine looked at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but her face. He wasn't sure what to say next. It all seemed so complicated, the words jamming up before he could get them from his mouth.

"This Preston, your fiancé, you mentioned him as traveling with Mister Dimas. What was your relationship together?"

Antoine raised his face. "Preston? He was Mister Dimas' personal assistant. That man went through them fairly quickly. Preston was the fourth since I'd started there, so that's like one every three years. He was really uptight, pretty snooty... easy to annoy."

Antoine chuckled at the memory.

"I dunno why, but I liked irritating him. I liked it when he paid attention to me. So I'd do whatever I could to get his goat, within reason, of course!"

"Is that why you asked him to move in with you?" Liz asked.

Antoine shook his head. "Nah. I liked him, in my own way, and I cared about him. When I saw him suffering afterwards, I wasn't okay with that. So, I asked him if he'd like to crash in my spare room. Things kind of progressed from there, you know?"

* * *

The first few nights he slept in the spare room. I made it up for him, told him to make himself at home.

It must've been the forth night or something when I woke up with that feeling someone was in my room. He was there, and asked if he could stay with me. He looked so plaintive that I couldn't say no. I've got a king-sized bed, I said he could, just for the night. Then that kinda became a thing.

At night, sometime after we'd gone to our respective rooms he'd come in and ask to sleep next to me. Then it was at bedtime he'd start coming in. Then, next thing I know we're getting ready for bed at the same time and he's curling up next to me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn't sexual for him, not then anyhow. I'd hold him, and that seemed to make a world of difference for him.

I was usually the holder, rather than the holdee.

As he started to feel better, things changed. I don't know how to describe it, but it went from being purely platonic to something deeper. Still not a sex thing... just more meaningful. More significant.

Eventually I asked him to move in with me full time. Since he was spending so much time at my house anyway it didn't make sense for him to keep I paying rent on his apartment. That year, we took a vacation together to my timeshare in Florida, on one of the islands by Fort Meyers. Things kinda got complicated there.

* * *

"How so?" Liz asked, picking up her pencil.

"Well, I love him..." Antoine began, then paused. He knew what they'd done, physically, but how did he begin to describe it? Antoine ran a hand through his long hair, then shook his head as if to clear it.

"I think it's probably pretty obvious by now that you know Preston's gay, right?"

Liz jotted down a few words. "I'd gotten that distinct impression, yes."

Antoine coughed. "Okay. Well, see, the problem is, I'm not!" He looked at Liz, trying to gauge her response, waiting for her to argue that fact with him, to tell him that of course he was, and hadn't accepted it yet.

Much to his surprise, she didn't. She merely sat patiently, face friendly but neutral, listening.

"You're... not going to try to convince me I am?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Antoine, you're the only one who can define yourself. If you don't think your gay, why would I question that? How do you define yourself?"

Antoine rolled his shoulders in a shrug and looked at his shoes. "Asexual, I guess. According to the internet I'm what they call 'an aromatic demisexual.' I'm not interested in sex with anybody, man or woman. With the right person, if I loved them enough I could do it if I needed to, but it would have to be my choice. I'm not interested in sex for its own sake. It doesn't mean I can't enjoy my self, I'm not scared of myself," he added quickly, feeling his cheeks redden. "It just means I don't have any interest. I don't get that itch that normal people do, y'know?"

"Have you ever had an intimate encounter?" Liz asked, hands folded neatly on her notebook.

Antoine nodded, then shook his head. "Yes but no..." He continued, recounting the day's events.

"That trip to Florida is when I realized how much I liked Preston, and I felt something for him, but I don't know what. When he came into my room I was expecting to do something together. I wanted to, and I was a bit in the mood to try, but once we were... getting started... I panicked and told him to stop, even though I'd been the one to start things in the first place.

"It upset him, and he left. Who can blame him. I felt so awful about it.

"The next morning was awkward, but we talked, then went for a walk later. We held hands. I guess it was then I realized just how special what we had was to me. I think that's when I started falling in love with him."

He glanced up, scrutinizing Liz's face. There was a slight upturn at the edge of her mouth, a deepening in the creases of her eyes. The hint of a smile she was trying to hide. From the untrained eye probably would've succeeded, but not from Antoine. He caught the subtle change, and felt himself grinning in response.

"You realized you loved him," Liz repeated, lifting her pencil.

"Not 'loved,'" Antoine corrected. "In Love. There's a difference, at least to me. And that brings us pretty much to why I'm here."

Doctor Liz Rouse paused her writing. "And why's that, Antoine?"

Antoine threw his arms wide, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Because I'm not perfect. Far from it! I am such a hopeless screw up, but I love the guy, and I really want to be the best I can for him!" He thumped his chest with a fist. "Me, right here. A GradeA fuck up with no sense of how to be normal or have a solid interpersonal relationship."

Antoine stood up, ran his fingers through his hair, feet restless. He shuffled, wanting to pace, then gave up and threw himself back onto the couch. Frantically he grabbed a fidget toy out of the basket and started working it in his hands.

He began to speak, words falling out, spilling anxiously across the floor.

"My last therapist said I had no sense of boundaries, attachment issues, and no interest or ability for personal relationships-"

Liz held up a hand, cutting him off. Curbing the overflow before it began.

"I don't think that's true, Antoine."

He twitched in surprise. "Huh? Why's that, Doc?"

She tapped her notepad. "Well, let's review hmm? You said you noticed Preston needed a friend, so you reached out to him. You made accommodations for him in your life, but it doesn't sound like you were trying to play martyr. It sounds like you actually came to enjoy having him so close.

"When you went to Florida, you found a boundary you weren't ready to cross, and in doing so hurt his feelings. Rather than avoid the situation, or deny it happened, -you- took initiative to speak to him the next morning. Does that really sound like someone who is incapable of interpersonal relationships to you?"

Antoine raised his eyes. "You know, that's almost exactly what Preston said to me the morning after the... thing."

The subtle smile on Liz's face became more apparent. She nodded her head, reassuring. "It sounds like he does understand... and you sound like you're more aware than you give yourself credit for." She glanced at the clock.

Antoine's eyes followed hers.

Their session, for today at least, was at an end. They shared their goodbyes, Antoine made his appointment for the following weeks, and set out into the world, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

 _I'm not as broken as I think I am!_ he mused as he bounded down to the street. It was a revelation that lit up the darkening sky. He tugged his jacket around himself, warm and deeply, deeply content.

* * *

 **Near a modest, ranch-style home at the edge of the pine barrens...**

Antoine climbed down the steps, heard the hydronic hiss from behind him as the bus rose up from the curb of his stop.

He tucked his hands in his coat pockets, tilted his head back and stared at the sky. Overcast, but the glow was concentrated down in the city behind him. At least it was somewhat darker here, by the edge of the pine barrens.

As he walked down the street towards home, he replayed the day's events in his mind. Their sessions, his and Doctor Liz's, had covered a good amount of ground... and yet it felt as if he were barely scratching the surface.

So much of what they were talking about was still in the distant past. However many sessions he'd had, and only now were they just starting to get to his present. He appreciated that approach. It was different from the last time he'd been in counseling as a "troubled" and "unrecoverable" youth.

That counselor hadn't been bad, he reasoned, but they'd been assigned to each other by the will of the state. There was no gradual getting to know you, nor any long term arrangement. There was a world of difference between being forced to talk to someone, and choosing to open up. He was glad he'd taken the plunge.

He was still mulling over everything as he unlocked the front door and let himself in. He tossed his coat and backpack over the back of the couch and was on his way to the kitchen when an ice cold voice cut through his thoughts.

"Ah, the prodigal son returns."

Antoine's head snapped up.

Preston was sitting in the recliner beside the window, still in his business suit, expression dark. His brown eyes, windows to his soul, were as dark and hard as ironwood.

"Have you been sitting there since you got home?" Antoine asked, floundering for words.

"I have," Preston replied interlacing his fingers. In that moment, he looked every inch the Executive he was. Proud, a touch haughty, an undercurrent of irritation in his voice. For the first time, Antoine could see the strong resemblance between Preston and his father. It was in their jaw, the hard eyes, that aura of supreme confidence.

"Gee, well you must be starving then," Antoine joked, trying to lighten the mood. He gave an innocent grin.

The thin line of Preston's mouth didn't so much as twitch, but his fingers flexed slightly, like a spider settling into its web.

"Where were you today, Antoine?" Preston asked.

The words had an ominous tone to them.

Antoine swallowed.

"I was at work."

Preston's perfectly manicured hands tightened slightly. "Ah yes, so you were. You came in late, and you left early. In fact, I got a most unseemly letter from Sharon today regarding exactly that. In fact, Antoine, she saw fit to contact me directly, rather than routing her complaint through appropriate channels. Care to explain that?"

Antoine's eyes narrowed. He leaned against the back of the couch. The wooden frame creaked slightly under the fabric. "I told her I had to leave early sometimes. And I did."

Preston leaned back, folding one leg across his lap. "Do you think, _Antoine_ , that you somehow get special liberties because you're 'close' to me? Do you think somehow the rules don't apply to you? That you can operate on your own agenda without consequence?"

Antoine hunched his shoulders, lowering his head angrily. "I've been doing this for several weeks. And I do get in early most days. But sometimes, something comes up and I have to take care of it."

"Several weeks, yes," Preston replied, tone condescending. "That's exactly what Sharon said. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, sometimes even Friday, you'd just pack your bags and head out. She'd been hoping it was just a passing phase, but now today, coming in nearly an hour late, and leaving slightly before three? That's simply unacceptable. I gave her the green light to write you up, but I must admit I'm not at all pleased by the fact she felt she had to reach out to me concerning your behavior!"

Antoine took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair, and tried to focus himself. "Look, I just had a few things to take care of, personal things, and today got off to a rough start. These things happen, okay?"

Preston leaned back in the chair. "Will this leaving early thing happen again?"

"Maybe... yes... quite likely." Antoine strode carefully around the back of the couch and stood beside it, facing Preston square on. He hoped his voice wasn't shaking though inside his body trembled with anger. "They probably will happen again, Preston."

"Oh? Do you think these are still the Dimas days where _he'd_ just let you come and go as you wish? You work in maintenance now, Antoine! And I am _not_ Mister Dimas." Preston's voice rose in tone and pitch as he pushed himself forward. "What could possibly be so important that you would feel comfortable humiliating me by putting Sharon in a spot where she doesn't know how to address your behavior?!"

Antoine grabbed the arm of the couch with such force that the entire piece slid several inches. "Because I'm _in_ _therapy, OKAY_!?" he bellowed, rage spilling over. "Because I'm going through a lot of stuff right now that you don't even know the half of. Stuff I have no idea how to fix. But all I know is I'm trying my damnest to make things right and get my head on straight?" He jabbed a strong hand at Preston, finger pointing, ignoring the stunned look on his housemate's face "And you know why I'm doing this, Prep? Do you have any idea?!"

Preston offered his hands meekly, palms up. "I had no idea-"

"Damn right you don't!" Antoine bellowed. "But I do! And I know exactly how fucked up I really am. I'm good at hiding that sort of stuff. But I love you Preston, and I want to be the person you deserve! If that means facing my past and my own personal demons: well then that's what I'm gonna do because you're worth it to me! Like I said, I love you, and I don't wanna fuck this up!"

Antoine was trembling now, the fury in his voice subsiding. In its place was a feeling of pure exhaustion. He threw himself down onto the couch, and put his face in his hands. He peered at Preston between his fingers for a moment before speaking again.

"You think you were the only one upset by Dimas' death? Preston, you have no idea. But I never even got a chance to grieve over it. By the time I got back, the funeral was over, you were struggling, and I did what I always do: I stuffed everything down deep inside where it would never, ever bother me, and went back to playing the 'everything's fine' game." He rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling. "I'm _very_ good at that game, Prep. I've had years of practice."

"Antoine," Preston began, pushing himself to his feet and taking a cautious step towards the couch. "I never knew."

Antoine turned his face towards Preston, looking up at the lean man standing over him. "Yeah? Well, I didn't want to worry you, was all."

Preston gestured to the edge of the couch, next to Antoine's chest. "Can I sit?"

"I guess. There's room..." Antoine muttered, sliding back and making a space for Preston. The thin man hardly took up much space.

Perched on the edge, Preston ran his hand through Antoine's blue hair. It was a tender, loving caress.

"Antoine," Preston began. "I didn't know. Honestly. You are good at hiding things. You're like a cat, so reserved with your feelings. I never know what's going on in your mind. I thought... I assumed... well, that doesn't matter now."

"Yeah, no. It still does. I didn't want everyone to know my business. Way back I asked Sharon if sometimes I could leave a bit early. She said yes, so I never asked again. I have a doctor's note technically, but I didn't want to bring that in."

"Why did you schedule your appointments so early in the afternoon?" Preston asked, running his fingers along Antoine's neck, down his towards his chest.

Antoine reached over, gently grabbing Preston's wrist, placing Preston's hand directly above his heart. He gave a humorless chuckle. "Isn't it obvious?"

Preston shook his head. "No. It's not."

"Well, that's because I didn't want you to know, Preppy. I thought if you found out I was seeing a shrink, you'd worry it was something you'd done. You've been through so much, got so much on your mind, I didn't want to worry you."

"Remember what you said, about how we need to be honest with each other?" Preston asked softly.

Antoine nodded. "Yeah, I do now. I went and screwed it up again, didn't I."

"No," Preston replied, shaking his head. "But when it's something like this, maybe I don't need to know, but if it's affecting you, I'd want to know. It's not all about me, remember."

"I'm supposed to look out for you."

Preston slid his body down, leaned over Antoine, so they were face to face. "We look out for each other, silly. That's how this is supposed to work. You're there when I need you, yes; but don't forget I'm here for you too." He lowered his face till his forehead was even with Antoine's.

"I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to be afraid to talk to me if there's something on your mind. Honestly, I'd rather you did."

Antoine sighed, and closed his eyes. He knew he should say something, but the words weren't coming to mind. He'd almost organized a coherent sentence when he felt Preston's lips brush his forehead. A kiss, light and gentle as a spring breeze, then the couch shifting as Preston stood up.

"You will need to bring that note to Sharon, and I'd recommend you try to schedule your appointments later in the day-"

"-Now that they're not a secret anymore."

"Yes, now that they're not a secret."

Antoine took a deep breath. "Okay. I'll do that. Tomorrow. Speaking of which, can I catch a ride in with you tomorrow? Do you mind leaving a little earlier so I won't be late?"

"I can do that, yes."

"Good," Antoine replied. "Because I'm gonna need a new car too. I tell you what, Prep, this has been one hell of a day, and it's only Wednesday. Hope you don't mind, but I think I'm just gonna lie here for a bit, you know?"

He felt Preston's hand brush his ankle as his housemate and fiancé walked past. "I know the feeling all to well, Antoine. Don't worry though, I'm here for you whenever you need."

"Thanks Prep," Antoine muttered, so soft he wondered if Preston even heard. "I couldn't do without ya."


	21. Sharing the News

Antoine Radson strolled down the corridors of the administrative department, trying to project a confidence he didn't quite feel. He realized he was tapping the Manila envelope in his hand against his side, and willed himself to stop. At the doors to the executive office, he stopped. Instinctively he reached for the doorknob, then hesitated, remembering.

With a sign, half of amusement, and half of nostalgia, his hand hovered millimeters above the knob.

Gone were the old days, where he could've just pranced in as if he owned the place. It was something his old boss had let him do, and had proved a difficult habit to break. His current employer maintained different standards. Protocol, etiquette, a certain rigorous adherence to norms.

"Yeah, can't treat me any different 'round here," Antoine muttered to himself before raising his hand and rapping briskly with the back of his knuckles.

"Come in, Antoine," a familiar voice came from inside, muffled slightly by the thick hardwood.

Antoine cracked the door open, feeling surprisingly self-conscious, and peered in.

His boss was sitting behind the desk, a slew of papers strewn out before him, apparently skimming several at once. A leather day planner was open off to the side, a red pen resting across the lined pages.

Preston leaned over, shoulders hunched as he poured over the latest earning prospectus, upcoming end-of-year reports, dry stuff of that nature. His glasses were pushed up on his forehead, brow furrowed in concentration. He didn't bother raising his eyes. "Have a seat," Preston said, gesturing to one of his guest chairs.

"How'd you know it was me?" Antoine asked as he shuffled across the carpeted floor and sat down, trying to look casual.

Preston's eyes flicked up, the hint of a smile playing at the edge of his lips. "I know when it's you."

"A good magician never reveals his tricks?"

Preston jotted some notes down in his day planner. "Something like that." The lean man was clearly not ready to talk quite yet. Antoine drummed his fingertips lightly on the arm of his chair, and let his eyes roam around the room.

True, Antoine knew, he'd been the one who initially decorated the space, removing the traces of their former boss, and creating a space he hoped Preston would like. It seemed though the lean mad had been adding some of his own touches as well as he grew more comfortable.

The Keurig coffee maker, the Bose stereo? Those were creature comforts Preston had added, along with a black and white photo of Quincy Market. The old coat rack had been replaced with a new wardrobe style one, lockable. Antoine knew his boss kept his old viola under close guard in the wardrobe. In times of tension, Preston would instruct his personal assistant to defer his calls, and find a moment to himself; letting his mind drift with the melodies he knew by heart.

Despite the changes, Antoine was glad to see at least several of his touches remained intact. The pieces of decorative driftwood, a stunning photograph taken from inside the curl of a wave, taken at sunset, a drops of a cresting rainbow frozen for all eternity in one perfect second.

Antoine picked at a piece of dust on his polo shirt, debated flicking it on the floor, then reconsidered. The lint went where so many like it had gone: rolled into a tiny ball between his fingers, then shoved into his pocket. The intent was to throw it out later, but the truth was it would wind up forgotten. Antoine's mind was known to wander at times, especially over trivial things like lint.

At long last, Preston looked up, pulling his glasses down over his fave and regarding Antoine with a distracted smile. Preston already knew why Antoine was here.

Antoine tapped his fingertips together against the large envelope. "So... is Rigel around?"

Preston nodded, and tapped an intercom on his phone. "Miss Vought, would you come into my office for a moment, please?"

Rigey Vought, "Riley" to her friends, and Antoine, stepped out of her adjacent office.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Preston gestured with an immaculately manicured hand towards Antoine. "Yes. I believe Antoine has something for you."

Antoine swallowed then nodded. He reached into the envelope and handed Rigel a simple piece of card stock stationary. No fold or envelope, just a single card slightly larger than a standard photo.

Rigel took it, eyes darting over it as she read. "A formal invite to The Lucky Lady?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "What's the special occasion?"

Antoine gave her his most charming and innocent smile. "Oh, just trying to get the old gang together for dinner and drinks after work. Figured it's been a long time since you said yes, so I wanted to up the presentation, you know?"

Rigel turned the card over in her hand, lips drawn tight. "Mister Radson, you know I appreciate the thought but-"

The phone on Rigel's hip buzzed loudly from its holster. She looked down in surprise, momentarily distracted. Rigel shook her head slightly, regained focus. "My apologies, but as I was saying, I really don't think-"

Her phone buzzed again.

A quick look of annoyance flashed across her face.

Preston, hands tucked under his desk gave a cough. "Why don't you attend to that, Miss Vought. It might be important."

"Yes, sir," she replied, removing the small TorusCom smartphone and entering in her code. Two text messages were waiting. Considering it was her work phone, very few people other than business contacts had the number.

She tapped "open" and read them.

They were both from her boss, sent only seconds ago.

"Miss Vought, go with him," instructed the first one. "Not negotiable," the second one added.

Rigel closed her eyes slowly, hoping Antoine didn't see the look of pure frustration behind them.

"It appears, Antoine, that my schedule's freed up for tonight," she said, resigned. She shoved the phone back into its holster and tucked the card under the cover of her tablet. "I will see you after work then."

Antoine nodded vigorously, blue hair falling about his ears. "Awesome! No, really, I mean it! Great!" He hopped to his feet, nodding and bobbing his head. "I'll see you there then! Don't be late!"

Rigel looked at the time on the card. It was conveniently timed, even factoring in traffic. There was no way she could reasonably manage to be late. None at all.

* * *

Rigel had been to The Lucky Lady a few times before. It seemed to be the go-to spot for senior staff to congregate after work, share some drinks and a pizza. Occasionally some one the younger personnel from other departments showed up as well; invitation only for them.

She arrived exactly on time, easily picking out Antoine from the rest of the crowd. He sat at the head of a large table, off to the back of the room. Technically, a table made out of several smaller tables. Most of the faces were already familiar to her, though she couldn't say she knew any of them well.

Personal life and work life were two things Rigel tried to keep separated by as wide a gulf as possible. A friendly level of professionalism at the plant was fine, but carousing and drinks with fellow staff? It wasn't her first choice for a good time.

Fortunately, everyone was friendly enough, and relatively low key. No crazy partiers or heavy drinkers in this crowd.

Rigel made her way through the pleasantly dim western-themed bar and sat down at the table. There were several people she didn't know, and a handful she'd met before. Gary from Engineering, Sharon from Infrastructure, those were two leads she knew. There was a woman she'd seen in accounting. Julie? Judy?

 _Ruby!_ Rigel decided. That was her name.

A handful of Antoine's lackeys sat off to his side, Stewart and DeLaney, a woman she didn't recognize. She ordered a drink and was about to ask the server for a menu when two others arrived, each carrying a large pizza.

Antoine grinned and pointed to them. "Hey, perfect timing, Riley! That one there's half-supreme, half veggie. The other one is half meat lover, and half Hawaiian. Because pineapple does go on pizza, and I don't care what anyone else might say about that."

Laney made a face.

Antoine prodded him in the shoulder. "I'm buying, so I'm choosing. You wanna pick up the next round, get whatever you want... as long as we all agree on it."

He grabbed several slices, plopped them on his plate, then leaned forward, apparently doing a quick head count. Rigel could see Antoine's lips moving as he tallied them up.

After a minute, he leaned back in his chair. "Okay, great! So it looks like were all here, minus one but he's always late anyhow." He pushed his chair back and stood up. "I'm guessing why I invited you all here today? Well, there's something I want to share with each of you."

Antoine hauled his backpack out from under his chair, wiped his hands on his napkin, and reached inside. "I've got one of these for each of you," he explained, as he pulled out handful of square, cream-colored envelopes and began to circle the table, passing them out by name.

Laney immediately started to open it, but Antoine shook his head. "No. I should've said that first. Open 'em at home, not here."

"Why? What's in them?" Laney asked.

Antoine continued to distribute out the remaining envelopes. "Something you'll find out when you get _home_ ," Antoine replied firmly as he returned to his seat and slid his backpack down next to his chair.

His eyes lit up.

Rigel followed his gaze across the room. Her boss, technically their boss. Preston Tucci was standing near the front of the room, his oilcloth duster and Prussian blue scarf still powdered with snow. "Hang on," Antoine said. "You guys dig in, I'll be right back."

With that, he got up and, side stepping between tables and servers made his way over to Preston.

Rigel watched as the two men stepped off to the side, heads down conspiratorially. A few seconds later Preston followed Antoine outside She turned the envelope over and with a roll of her eyes picked a butter knife off the table.

Carefully, she slipped it under the envelope flap like a letter opener and proceeded to cut it open

"Hey," Gary admonished, his tone hushed yet horrified. "He said not to open those here!"

Rigel met his eyes defiantly. "I don't take orders from Antoine," she replied curtly. With that, she reached inside and removed a folded card. The cover was simple, unadorned save for seven words:

 _Save the date! We've waited long enough!_

Rigel drew a hand to her mouth, covering a gasp of shock as she opened it. She read the inside, then reread it to make sure she hadn't missed anything. It was hard to mistake the message. There was a photo printed in pastel ink, two figures Rigel knew without introduction. Preston sat behind Antoine, his arms around the other man's neck. Neither of them were looking at the camera, merely holding each other tenderly, eyes closed.

 _Preston and Antoine invite you to share in the joy of their wedding day_ , a date, an RSVP email, and the location. Cape Cod, Massachusetts.

Her stunned expression prompted a flurry of questions.

"Rigel, what happened?"

"Is it a bonus?"

"Is it a pink slip? Please don't say it's a pink slip."

"Oh jeeze, Stewart, he can't fire us! Use your head.

Rigel looked in annoyance. "Just open it before he gets back!"

No one moved, glancing at each other nervously, waiting for someone else to go first. Gary shifted his weight uncomfortably in his chair. Laney and Steward exchanged awkward looks. Ruby looked away. "We really shouldn't," she mumbled apologetically as she opened her envelope and withdrew the card.

Quickly, stealthily, everyone followed suit. "In for a penny, in for a pound," Gary relented, tearing the flap up with a quick flip.

No one spoke as they read. Rigel sat back feeling a small measure of satisfaction, watching expressions shift from puzzlement to surprise, to something else altogether.

Sharon tucked her card into her jacket pocket, face surprisingly blasé. "Well, that was certainly unexpected." Her eyes focused on movement by the bar. She reached over and gave Stewart a light smack with the back of her hand. "Put that away, he's coming back."

* * *

Antoine padded over to the table, Preston at his side. As he approached the table, his grin faded slightly. "Hey, what's with those looks? You guys are all... oh."

His eyes flicked to the empty envelope by Stewart's plate. "Et tu, Stewart?"

The young man's cheeks reddened. He made a hasty grab for the envelope, though it was far too late. "I... uh..."

"We all did," confessed Ruby.

Antoine dropped into his chair, as Preston settled in to the empty one beside him. Antoine rubbed his neck and looked at the group. "Guys, seriously? You read 'em? You had one thing not to do..."

Preston cleared his throat, as he untied his scarf. "It's not that big a concern. We just didn't want to put anyone on the spot. The 'open it at home' bit was for your comfort, not ours."

Rigel looked into the face of her boss, then of the blue-haired man sitting at his side. She raised her water glass. "Well, Sir, I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say how unexpected and honored we are by this. Mister Tucci, Antoine, congratulations and best wishes for a long and happy marriage!"

"Hear, here," Gary chimed in, raising his own glass.

A chorus of well-wishes followed; and the ice that had frozen conversation shattered.

"So, I guess we all want to know: how long?" Sharon asked, propping an elbow on the table. "I never would've guessed from that one over there," she gestured to Antoine with her fork. "He's so quiet about his private life. Everything's all projects with him!"

Laughing, blushing, Preston and Antoine found themselves the center of attention. "I wanted to keep this a normal dinner!" Antoine protested over a second slice of pizza. "You seriously couldn't have waited till you got home?"

Stewart pointed across the table with his fork. "Well, someone decided to open it... and then we all did." He gave Antoine a casual shrug. "No offense, but you work with us and you really thought we wouldn't want to know now?"

Antoine's face creased in a smile. "Actually, Stewart, I figured if anybody decided to open theirs now, it would've been you. You or Laney."

"Me? Why!?"

"Because I work with you guys. I know you." Antoine replied, amused. "Okay, well, lesson learned for me, right? Next time I'll hand these things out at the end of the meal."

Preston raised his eyebrows. "Next time?"

"Awww, not that there'll be one, of course," Antoine replied, blushing unexpectedly. "Just being hypothetical, you know."

Preston laughed and gave Antoine's shoulder a squeeze.

"So," Gary asked from across the table. "I guess I've got to ask: who proposed to who?"

Antoine turned a deeper shade of red, if that was even possible.

Preston pulled his fiancé closer and turned towards Gary. "Well, if his face alone already wasn't answering your question, it was this guy right here: Antoine. This big deck ape popped the question one day, and well, I couldn't refuse!"

"We were originally thinking about Florida next spring-" Antoine began.

"-But Cape Cod's closer, and considering the work schedules of our honored guests, less travel time," Preston finished.

And so the evening progressed, a delightful blur of laughter and questions, Antoine blushing more than he probably ever had in his life, and Preston appearing to take immense delight in his beloved's suddenly bashful turn. Time melted away, and Rigel found herself slipping contentedly away with it.

* * *

Rigel "Riley" Vought waited for the light to change before crossing the street to the bus stop, the invitation still nestled deep in her purse. The evening definitely changed her perception of the dynamic between Preston and Antoine. It answered some questions, and raised others.

How long had this been going on? Had they been partners(?), boyfriends(?) even back when she'd travelled with them to Springfield for the first time, shortly after she'd started her job?

That would explain why Antoine had been so damned protective of her boss all these years; and his initial suspicion of her as an administrative spy.

She still couldn't fully believe it though. Though she knew her boss was clearly gay, Antoine seemed so far and away the type of person Preston would go for. She always imagined he would have a certain type... a type that was not Antoine.

Rigel found herself considering her own upbringing as she boarded the express bus for her apartment across town. She was unquestionably not the poster child of someone raised in a hippy commune.

Perhaps, she mused as she watched the downtown cityscape scroll past, no one ever truly knows what the future will bring. Regardless, she knew one thing: the deep affection between her boss and Antoine was clearly evident for all to see that night. She genuinely wished them nothing but the best; and wondered a bit distracted if this meant she'd be shelving Mister Tucci's "beard file" from here on.

 _They'd look good together_ , she concluded. Going to events and all? Yes. They'd make a particularly fashionable pair.


	22. Permanent Ink

Antoine Radson walked briskly down the corridor to his workshop, non-skid shoes squeaking on the linoleum and we went. He kept a pair of work boots in his locker, but preferred to use those in the more industrial sections of the generating station. They were a bit grungy to wear up on the carpeted administration floor.

He'd been finishing up a task he started yesterday, replacing a few valve switches along the fluid lines. It wasn't an urgent matter, a non-critical upgrade his boss had called it. Still, it needed to be done eventually. Yesterday afternoon, after normal business hours was a good time to start. This morning, before the bean counters arrived gave him ample time to finish.

Antoine tugged at the hem of his over shirt. He didn't like the way it wore over his polo shirt, however sometimes long-sleeves were best.

His workshop was on one of the sub-levels of the nuclear plant, the maintenance level. There, in a world lit by artificial lights, he'd tackle projects and divvy tasks between crews as he himself received work orders.

Today would be a rough day. Cleaning and spot checking the hydrology systems. It was always cramped, dusty, and hot. He wasn't looking forward to squirming his way between pipes. At least nothing was scheduled insofar as repairs. He wouldn't have to run a shut-down request through his boss.

Not a shut-down of the reactors, of course. That was a loss of hundreds of thousands per hour. For maintenance, they just rerouted through auxiliary systems, but it still required a mountain of paperwork beforehand. Hopefully everything would check out, and they wouldn't have to tackle that monster.

As he drew closer the sound of some odd indie music wafted down the hall to greet him. It grew louder the closer he got.

Antoine was turning into the doorway when he nearly colliding with DeLaney as the young man scurried out, a tube of schematics under his arm.

"Hey, Antoine!" he greeted, giving his colleague a friendly wave.

Antoine gave a half-salute back. "Hi Laney. Getting started on HydroTwo?"

Laney nodded. "We would've started on One, but they're doing an electronic check up at control, so we'll start that when they're done."

"Sounds good," Antoine replied. "Let me know if anything comes up."

"Will do," Laney agreed. He turned quickly, the cardboard tube lightly grazing against the upper portion of Antoine's left arm.

Antoine gave a snarl and cringed. He reached his right hand up, but couldn't bring himself to touch the spot. "Hey, watch it! I'm still sore from the other day!"

Laney gave a chastised and nervous grin. "Oh jeeze, sorry, Antoine! I forgot!"

"Yeah?" Antoine muttered, right hand hovering protectively over his bicep. "Well, it's an accident, but just be careful, okay."

"Right," Laney agreed. "Oh, by the way, you should know-"

"Later, okay? I'm going to get an ice pack for this. And who changed the radio?" he asked, clearly annoyed. Very few radio stations came through that much concrete. It had taken them all quite some time to find a station everyone agreed on. The Great Channel Truce, and the handshake agreement that no one would change it, or reposition the antenna ever again.

Antoine was readying himself up for a good ranting session, when a woman's voice from the back of the spoke up.

"That would be me, Radson," came the pleasant, if slightly sharp reply from the back.

The workshop was a large room, divided into different sections by tables and storage lockers. There were several standing tools for fabrication if necessary, as well as bays of maintenance equipment ranging from miniature to gigantic. A few shop manuals and technical publications sat under a workbench behind Antoine's desk. Along the back wall was another long bench they rarely used as anything more than a lunch table. Several mismatched rolling chairs were typically parked around it.

Today, the chairs had been pushed aside into a corner by the employee lockers.

The table itself was occupied by a woman Antoine knew all to well, his boss, and the head of Infrastructure: Sharon.

She stood over the table, which was covered with various small machine parts and blades. She'd hauled over an oscilloscope, and set it beside the one of the portable multimeters they shared in the department.

"Oh, hi Sharon. Yeah, whatever music you want, that's cool. What brings you down here?"

"I have this project, and needed the space I don't have in my office. I'm going to be working on it here, since this is _my_ shop and all."

Antoine peered at the assortment, tilting his head. "Whatcha building on, boss?"

Sharon barely raised her eyes. "Nothing that concerns you at the moment, Antoine." She held two small curved pieces of plastic together, squinted at them as if measuring, then set them aside. "What does concern me though is that arm of yours."

"What about my arm?"

"You nearly jumped out of your skin when DeLaney barely touched you."

Antoine curled around his arm protectively, then tried to pretend he wasn't.

"Something that happened yesterday, eh? What did you do to it?"

"Nothing!" Antoine replied, turning his right side towards her. "I'm fine!"

Sharon stretched her arms and twisted her wrists. The result was a series of small crackling sounds. Antoine winced slightly.

"You don't put ice on 'fine,' Radson. That better not be a workplace injury!"

"It's not."

Sharon flexed her fingers. More cracks and pops. "May I see? If I have to deal with one more person this quarter who hasn't filled out an incident report I swear I am going to lose it."

Antoine hesitated. "It's really nothing."

"Please," Sharon prompted, gently but firm. Tone and expression made it clear her request was not option.

With a sigh, Antoine removed his outer shirt. A bit of medical tape and the dressings of a bandage could just be seen at the edge of his sleeve.

"Remember that laceration one of night shift got last month? The one he didn't report that later got infected? And now I'm dealing with our worker's compensation underwriter, local urgent care, and the hassle of who pays his medical bills? That's _not_ happening a second time." She pointed at his bandage. "Arm... Now!"

Antoine whimpered as he unstuck the tape, peeling up an edge of the bandage. Underneath was a layer of clear plastic wrap. Antoine continued to work the top bandage free until Sharon could see what he'd kept covered.

The lines of fresh ink were clearly visible, dark and crisp. Antoine pushed his sleeve and cover up further, revealing a recently tattooed design.

A tribal-themed band encircled his upper arm. Swooping black arcs that resembled thorns, or possibly the movement of ocean waves. At the center of the design, right where his bicep met his deltoid the design was broken by the the outlines of a rearing horse, the top half of which was still covered by his sleeve.

Behind the tribal lines, the design was accented in rainbow-hued swaths using a style known as 'watercoloring.' The background ink appeared translucent against his skin, colors blending easily into one another.

Antoine rubbed his arm, pulled the sleeve back down. "I was gonna get my ear pierced, but then thought it might not be workplace safe. So I went with the ink instead," he explained.

"Mustang?" Sharon asked.

Antoine shook his head. "Rampant unicorn. An old heraldic symbol. Power, force, and instinct, while at the same time faith, healing and success," he explained. "I considered a few other designs, but, well, this just seemed more fitting for me, y'know?"

He paused for a minute, then slid his sleeve up to his shoulder and removed the protective bandage over the clear wrapping. "Here, you might as well see the whole thing."

The unicorn reared up on its hind legs, appearing to break through the armband. Front hooves lashed out, proud and determined. The lines were various widths, giving emphasis to the animal's determined expression. Its mane swirled around its body, tail held high like a banner.

Despite the subject of the design, there was nothing feminine to it.

Sharon pursed her lips in approval. "It does fit you, Radson. I never would've expected it, but you pull it off."

"Thanks," Antoine beamed, patting the bandage back into place on his arm, then pulling his sleeve down. "It took several hours yesterday. The artist said to keep it covered until tomorrow."

"Well, I'm sure he knows best," Sharon agreed. "Now, unless there's anything further keeping you from your job, I'd suggest you get back on task, and I'll return to mine right here." She gestured to the chair.

Antoine bobbed his head vigorously. "Yeah! Definitely. I've got a lot to do today, boss."

Sharon glanced at her watch. "Well, hop to, and you'll get it all done."

"Absolutely!" Antoine capered over to his desk, unlocked the center drawer, and hauled out his day planner.

* * *

"I still can't believe you got a tattoo without telling me," Preston said with an eye roll as Antoine changed out of his work shirt.

Antoine shrugged, kicked off his khakis, and reached for a pair of pajama pants on his dresser. "Hey, it's just skin. And I figured if I asked you'r probably have said 'no.'" Antoine stepped into the flannel pants and tied the drawstring in a bow. He considered putting on a tee shirt, then decided against it. He rarely felt cold, and it was nice to get some air against his arm.

"Anyhow," he continued as he ambled into the living room, "I wanted to do something to show solidarity to you. I don't have a ring, not that I'd probably wear one much anyway, and piercing my ear seemed like a good way to get injured at work. I went with this design, because, well, I know what this symbol can represent in your community, and I'm totally okay with that."

Preston sat down in his armchair, and picked up the remote. "Our community, Antoine."

The blue-haired man laughed. "No... well maybe, but nah. I'm not gay. I'm marrying you, but I'm not gay."

He flopped down on the couch and leaned over the armrest towards Preston. "Hey, can I get a tee shirt that says that?"

Preston thumbed through the channels, volume muted. "Says what, Antoine?"

"'I'm not gay, but my husband is.'"

Preston gave an incredulous laugh. "What? No, that would be a horrible idea!"

"Worse than a tribal tattoo with a unicorn?" Antoine draped his head over the armrest and gave Preston the most innocent look he could muster. He gave Preston a poke in the leg.

"Maybe not that bad," Preston replied, pushing Antoine's hand away, trying to keep his expression serious. He gave Antoine a stern look, which was hard considering Antoine's face was upside-down, blue hair falling freely towards the floor.

Their eyes met.

Antoine winked.

"You're not going to do it."

"Do what?" Antoine asked, folding his hands up under his chin.

"Make me laugh," Preston replied. "This is a serious discussion."

Antoine slid even further over the armrest, reaching a hand onto Preston's thigh. "But I'm so cute! You know you want to!"

Preston swallowed down a chuckle. Something about Antoine's utterly feigned innocence and inverted position was starting to get to him. Preston shook his head, tried to look away, found himself drawn back to Antoine's blue eyes. "No," he choked. "It's not happening! I'm actually rather annoyed at you!"

Antoine flipped himself right-side up and batted his eyelashes. "Awww, Preston. C'mon, Preppy! Could you ever be seriously mad at a mug like this?" He pouted his lips, widened his eyes, the epitome of the sad-puppy face. He gave a mewing sound, like a tiny cat.

"No!" Preston shouted, unable to contain himself. He clutched his side and swatted at Antoine's hand. "Dammit Antoine!" he gasped between surges of laughter. "That's not fair! No kitten noises!"

"Mew!" replied Antoine, grinning ear to ear.

"Okay, okay, I give up," panted the thin man, wiping tears from his eyes. "You win, Antoine. Seriously though, next time let me know if you're going to get a tattoo. You know they're not my thing."

Antoine settled himself back into the corner of the couch. He reached out a hand, Preston took it. Antoine gave a loving squeeze. "Don't worry, Prep. I'm not planning on any 'next-time.' I'm only getting married once."

With that, he closed his eyes, and gave a heartfelt sigh of contentment.

"Just you, Prep. Only ever gonna be you."


	23. That's In A Name

"I didn't even know this room was here," Antoine remarked in surprise, standing in the doorway by Preston's shoulder.

Preston nodded. "My father's private study. I was never allowed in."

Antoine raised his eyebrows.

"Not that he ever actually told me directly," Preston added hastily. "But I never asked, and I got the distinct impression this space was his only."

Preston and his fiancé Antoine had made the bestial drive from Plateau City to Boston, and now waited in the loft of Alfred and Janet Tucci's expensive condo. The building had once been an old schoolhouse, with high-vaulted ceilings. When it was converted into condominiums, there was enough space to put an entire second level over the bath and bedrooms while keeping their ceilings a normal height. In the open combined living and dining area there was easily seventeen feet between floor and ceiling.

Antoine found it all rather pretentious at his first visit. A great deal of space given to the vertical, rather than the horizontal. He'd half expected Preston's parents to have a baby grand piano in the loft, and found himself relieved they didn't.

The loft was referred to be the family, Preston included, as the Library. A pair of arm chairs, a coffee table, and several shelves of books filled the space quite comfortably.

Antoine hadn't thought about the fact that the library didn't extend the entire length of the apartment. He'd assumed the double doors at the end were access to some HVAC system that kept the place heated and cooled accordingly.

How wrong he'd been.

Preston lead him up the spiral staircase that connected the living room to the loft, and pushed the doors open in one easy gesture.

The space beyond was easily as pretentious (in Antoine's mind) as the rest of their home.

Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined the walls. Across the far end, by the window, an L-shaped desk of some dark, expensive wood wrapped across the back. A leather office chair, complete with ornate brass tacking sat between the rear desk, and a second, ornate wing that dominated the front of the room. There was the standard globe, illuminated curio case, and other trappings that screamed to the entrant: This is my domain, and I am an important man.

"My father would occasionally meet clients here," Preston explained, stepping into the room, his foot sinking slightly into the deep forest green carpeting, soft like moss. Antoine followed, tracing a finger along the trim of the wainscot paneling. He glanced at the titles on the books as he walked past the shelves. All economic theory. Banking. Investing. A few titles on law.

Antoine gave a snort. "'I don't know how to put this but I'm kind of a big deal. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.'"

Preston turned, expression perplexed. "Come again?"

"Never mind," Antoine replied with a wave of his hand. "Line from a movie." He tilted his head towards Alfred Tucci's commanding chair. "So, you ever sit there?"

Preston looked visibly appauled. "What? No, never! That's my dad's spot! I could never sit there. A man's private office is like his castle."

"What is it with men like you and Burnsie and your fixation on private dens?" Antoine asked as he shouldered past. "I mean, I just don't get it. It's a chair, Preppy! You can't tell me you haven't wondered what it feels like to sit there."

"Well…" Preston hesitated, running his fingers over his delicate lips. "I have wondered…"

Antoine ambled over behind Alfred's foredesk, and gave the chair a pat. "So, c'mon, Preppy. Have a seat."

Preston looked away shyly. "I really shouldn't… but…"

"But your parents won't be home for at least another hour or so." Antoine took a step back, gesturing grandly. "So come on already! Try it out!"

The thin man paused, as if locked in a brief argument with himself. After a second, he grinned, mind made up. "You know what, Antoine? Don't mind if I do!"

Preston half-strolled, half-pranced across the room and dropped down into the massive chair. "Oh," he purred, settling his back deep into the seat. "I could get used to something like this." He closed his eyes, beaming proudly.

"I'm sure you could," Antoine replied.

Without bothering to explain himself, or offer warning, the blue-haired man leaned in and put his hands on the arms of the leather chair.

Before Preston had time to ask a question, or even utter a lone word, Antoine's mouth was already over his.

Preston found himself intimately aware of the fullness of Antoine's lips, the rough texture of his fiance's beard against his own clean-shaven face. It wasn't the casual peck they'd shared from time to time. Antoine's kiss was long, deep.

Involuntarily Preston reached up, twisting his fingers into Antoine's blue mane as their tongues intertwined. He rose from the chair; felt Antoine's strong arms hauling him up, and closer.

Preston pushed his body against Antoine, relishing every sensation their fully frontal embrace offered his yearning body. He spread his legs slightly as Antoine's kisses turned to soft bites, moving from jawline to neck. Antoine's strong hands were low on his lean waist.

Without thinking, Preston flexed his hips forward, barely able to contain himself as Antoine continued to nibble at his throat. His own breath was coming in ragged gasps as he shifted his body against his fiance's. The urge was nearly overwhelming. This wasn't just any man from his past encounters. This was _his_ man, his Antoine.

 _Antoine!_

Preston took a step back, raising his hands, putting his palms against Antoine's broad chest to force some space between them.

"What's wrong?" Antoine asked. He tilted his head, clearly perplexed.

Preston wiped his damp lips with the back of a hand, cheeks reddening. He looked down at this feet, unable to ignore the uncomfortably confined bulge in his jeans. "Jeeze, Antoine. I'm sorry. I understand how you feel about this… sex stuff. I know you're asexual and all."

Antoine laughed, and pulled Preston against him in a tight bear hug. "I don't think you understand at all! We're not doing that, as you put it 'sex stuff.' I'm kissing you, and you're enjoying it. And, for the record, I enjoy it too. There's a huge different between this, and… you know… sex. You can't just assume that I'm not going to like kissing my husband-to-be, just because I'm not comfortable with other things, you know."

"Well, in that case-" Preston didn't bother finishing.

Antoine grabbed him, and swung him backwards in a controlled catch. Preston arched his body to the curve of Antoine's own.

The blue-haired man swung him gently around, nuzzled his face against Preston's shoulder.

"I for one, Preston Tucci, and going to enjoy kissing you every chance I get."

"Radson-Tucci."

Antoine paused. "Huh?"

"Radson-Tucci. I've decided." Preston twirled his fingers through Antoine's silky hair, tugging playfully. "I want your name to be part of mine. Preston Radson-Tucci; or even just Preston Radson."

Antoine stared at him, expression shifting from confusion to recollection, then finally to pure delight.

"I like the way it sounds," Preston continued. "I want to world to know I'm yours."

Antoine gave Preston a rib-bending squeeze that lifted him easily off the ground. "Woah, easy!" Preston squeaked, pushing at Antoine's shoulders.

"Oh, sorry." Antoine blushed and gently set the thin man down. "I guess I've gotten a bit stronger working in maintenance. And I'll be Antoine Radson-Tucci! That way the world knows I'm yours too!"

There might've been further words spoken, but they were lost to the moment, forgotten in the swirling joy that surrounded both men.


	24. Love is What We Make It

"You know, Antoine, I had a great time," Preston Tucci remarked as he hung his coat up in the hall closet.

Antoine grinned at Preston as he tossed his backpack onto one of the chairs by the kitchen table. "So glad, Preppy. First block party for ya?"

Preston nodded. "I've never really experienced that sort of culture before," he confessed, treading lightly, unsure of how to phrase it without sounding vaguely racist. A block party with Antoine's adoptive parents, in Antoine's old neighborhood of Heidelberg was a cultural experience to be sure.

Antoine gave him a playful elbow in the ribs. "Yeah, it was nice not to be the only Ken Doll around," he laughed. "Seriously though, I'm glad you came. I was worried you'd back out or something. I mean, my family's not exactly like yours. I was worried you'd feel too uncomfortable." Antoine ambled into the kitchen and started rummaging through one of the cupboards. "I mean, no offense, but your experiences have probably been pretty different than mine."

"Oh, you might say that," Preston replied as he headed into the bedroom, taking his shirt off as he went. It was true, of course. Preston hadn't ever stopped to think about the implications of Antoine's upbringing compared to his. The fact that Antoine's parents were a mixed race couple was something he could easily accept. But it was a different matter to realize that they lived in Marcus's neighborhood.

Marcus, with his dark skin and bright smile. His family, a definition that extended to both blood and close friends alike. Preston wasn't used to being a minority as Antoine happily rekindled past relationships with old friends and cousins alike. He was surprised though, how no one even blinked an eye the fact Antoine was marrying a man. Antoine eagerly introduced Preston to innumerable people with the title of "aunt," "uncle," or "cousin."

People shook Preston's hand, some even hugged him, and wished them both well on their future together.

The day had been a happy whirlwind for Preston, and something he'd definitely remember. Especially the pulled pork sliders a bright-eyed man named Casper had brought. Uncle Casper, Antoine had introduced him as. Preston had even met Marcus's parents, Antoine's grandparents, Keziah and William.

He knew there was no way he'd remember all the names. He pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a teeshirt, realized he was smiling to himself. Seeing Antoine in his old stomping ground, his comfort zone, had been an experience in and of itself. The way Antoine almost fell over with pride when his cousin Sarah introduced them to baby Antwan – _named after you_ – she said, beaming with maternal pride. Despite his having been pulled back into the system, Antoine's adoptive family had never forgotten him.

The experience was eye-opening for Preston.

So different from his own family life.

He finished getting dressed, lost in thought. Outside of the bedroom, he realized the rest of the house was dark, save for a faint, flickering glow.

Curious, Preston stepped out, and turned into the living room.

Several thick candles sat on the end table and mantle, providing the only illumination. Antoine was sitting on the couch, leaned back in his corner, legs outstretched across the seat. Though he still wore the jeans he'd put on for the party, he'd tossed his polo shirt somewhere. He lounged topless in the dim light.

He patted the cushion between his legs gently. "Please?" he asked. "Sit with me?"

Preston sat. He snuggled himself into the V made by Antoine's legs, resting his back against his housemate's broad chest. Antoine's arms were quickly around him, holding him tight. Preston draped his hands across Antoine's forearms, savoring the sensation.

"I love you, Preppy," Antoine purred, nuzzling his face against Preston's cheek. "May I?"

"'May you' what?" Preston asked, genuinely curious.

"This," Antoine replied.

He kissed Preston's cheek, the gently nibbles turning to more intense nips as he lowered his head along Preston's neck. He pushed the collar of Preston's shift to the side, and bit Preston's shoulder with a soft yet deliberate pressure.

Preston gasped as he felt the wet heat of Antoine's mouth on his skin, the light exhale of his fiancé's hot breath, the delightfully coarse texture of the man's beard.

"I want you to know how much I love you," Antoine whispered, lips brushing Preston's ear. "I want to you to be mine in the way you deserve to be treated."

Antoine's hands slid lower, dropping from their hold on Preston's chest to his waist, loosening as they went.

"Is this okay?" Antoine asked as his fingers slid beneath the waistband of Preston's sweatpants.

Preston groaned, and arched his back against Antoine. "Do you even need to ask?"

"Of course," Antoine replied.

His hands were now well beneath the elastic hem, sliding lower along the sensitive line where Preston's hips and stomach met. The cotton of his briefs offered no barrier. Antoine's fingers dipped lower, gracing the soft down that filled the space between Preston's legs.

Involuntarily, Preston shifted, adjusting himself.

The tips of Antoine's fingers brushed the head of his manhood, and didn't flinch.

Preston shuddered.

Antoine hesitated.

"No, please. As long as you're okay… Don't stop!" Preston whispered.

Antoine's lips were back along the base of his neck, biting, sucking. Careful not to leave any mark above the collar line. His hands continued their southward plunge, leaving no realm unexplored.

What happened next was unlike anything Preston had ever known. Antoine's hands caressed him in ways that made his body tremble with delicious abandon. He arched his back involuntarily as Antoine's rhythm increased, drawing him to the point of climax, and beyond.

He'd had sex, that much was fact. But it didn't begin to compare to the way he felt in Antoine's arms, Antoine's hands still pressed against his flesh.

This, Preston realized as he lay exhausted and spent, was the difference between sex as he knew it, and _making love_. Even though he'd not laid so much as a finger on Antoine, the experience left him weak and profoundly changed.

He started to push himself to his feet, to clean up, but Antoine held him tight. "Don't go," Antoine's voice murmured into his ear. "Not yet. Please, stay with me."

So Preston stayed, watching the flickering candles melt lower. He couldn't tell where his own body ended and Antoine began. The warmth of skin on skin lulled him into a state of near-drunken ecstasy, intoxicated by nothing more than the presence of his cherished lover.

He closed his eyes, seeing the faint image of flames dance against his eyelids. Preston tilted his head, felt the soft rise and fall of Antoine's chest, heard the steady beat of Antoine's heart. There was no better lullaby in the world, Preston decided. Soothed by the motion, cradled in Antoine's arms, he drifted into perhaps the most blissful sleep he'd ever known.


	25. We're In This Together

Morning started as so many do, with the insistent buzzing of an alarm on Antoine's cell phone on his nightstand. He rolled over and nudged Preston with an elbow. "You want the shower first?"

Preston stretched, blearily looked at his phone on his own nightstand, shook his head. "Not showering this morning," he replied. He swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed his face.

"Need to get in there first?"

"No, go ahead Antoine."

Antoine bounded up. He grabbed his work clothes from the top of the dresser, and launched himself into the shower. Unlike Preston, he was a morning person. Or, at least, an all-day person. A light sleeper, it was easy for him to go from asleep to functional without the long wake-up period his fiancé required. Antoine was thoroughly convinced that if caffeine ever became illegal, he'd have to pick up a night job smuggling coffee beans into Plateau City.

He showered, lathing the shampoo through his thick blue hair, wondering if it might be time for a touch up soon. He hadn't dyed his hair recently. The colour had faded from a vibrant teal to a warm sea-green. The very tips of his roots were beginning to show. It seemed the dye always stayed longer in his beard.

Probably due to the texture of the hair, he reasoned as he took the Braun trimmer to his jawline. Despite his tropical hair, it behooved him to maintain a well-groomed appearance. Especially today! A vendor from General Electric was coming, contract in tow. If all went well, the Infrastructure would be renewing their contract, with an add on for additional busways as demand increased.

It was all a bit over Antoine's head, admittedly. His boss, Sharon had been practically living at the plant for the past three days, fueled by caffeine and pure adrenaline as she checked and double-checked the paperwork.

Exacting at the best of times, Sharon had become downright unsparing as the contract date drew closer. The intensity with which she checked and double-checked her team, put everyone on edge. It was understandable, but still unpleasant.

Antoine examined his face in the mirror. He ran his fingers through his still-damp hair, pursing his lips as he examined the roots. Would it really matter if he kept dying it? What if he just let it grow out natural. How many years had it been since he'd worn blond? He honestly couldn't remember.

His phone buzzed again; a second alarm. His "get moving now!" alarm in case he'd been dawdling too long.

With a noise of exasperation he swiped it to silent, and ran the towel over his hair one last time. He dressed quickly. His backpack was on the floor by the closet, in easy reach.

Preston was in the kitchen, seated at their breakfast bar, wearing pajama pants and a lounge robe. He slowly stirred a bowl of Rice Chex as he surfed the news on his tablet.

Antoine drew up short, backpack dangling from one hand. "Dude! We gotta get going or we're going to be late!"

Preston glanced up at Antoine, eyes tired. "I'm working from home today."

"Huh?"

"I'm taking a personal day, Antoine." Preston returned his attention to the tablet.

Antoine sputtered for a second, at a loss for words. He swung his backpack onto his shoulder almost angrily. "Fine, Prep. But I'm taking the new car."

Their conversation was at an end.

...

By new car, Antoine meant "new to his ownership." The car in question was hardly new: a 1984 Dodge Rampage, a truck-sedan hybrid along the lines of the iconic Chevrolet Camaro. It needed a bit of work, but after his old Bessie had proved unsalvageable, Antoine bit the bullet and called in a favor from an auto trader he knew. The car had arrived via truck, listed in the condition of "as is." Despite that dubious phrase ("as is") the vehicle itself was in great shape. Sure there were a few issues that needed some tuning up, but it was nothing outside of Antoine's experience.

He'd been planning to bring the car to work for some time, stash it in the hanger that once held his beloved Little Diva. The helicopter and her supplies were gone. With the hanger empty, it seemed a shame to waste the space.

"Nessie," as Antoine decided to christen her was in surprisingly good condition, given her age. Body, major engine components, and frame were right as they should be. It was more a few of the little details that Antoine needed to tune up. She was roadworthy though. That was the main thing.

Antoine hefted his mountain bike into the bed of the Rampage and tossed his helmet into the passenger seat next to his backpack. He debated going back in, maybe trying to convince Preston to join him.

In the end, he decided against it. Preston hadn't been himself lately. He seemed preoccupied and terse in his replies. Whatever was going on in Preston's head, Antoine didn't like it.

* * *

There were several meeting rooms at the nuclear plant, named by color. The swankiest was up in the administrative department, on the floor above Preston's office. It was seldom used except for executive meetings and when the Board of Trustees convened. It was known as Gold.

Antoine was not there. Sharon's department was using Blue, a smaller and less formal room located closer to her office below ground level.

The room was windowless, fully enclosed by the body of the nuclear plant. At the center was a wood-topped table, an eight-person affair surrounded by inexpensive but comfortable mesh-back roller chairs. Several photos of Plateau City and the nuclear plant hung on the walls, lending a sense of décor to the otherwise sterile space. Two glass panels hung on the wall, one at either end of the room. They doubled as a white board and projection surface.

The room was simple, but it met their needs. After all, it was the vendor representative who needed to impress Sharon, not the other way around.

Antoine had arrived early at his boss's request to make sure the projector was set up. Unlike Gold, and some of the other rooms, Blue didn't have a ceiling mounted digital projector. He'd brought the cart in and made sure everything was ready for the vendor's presentation. He settled in at the tail of the table next to the projector and waited.

Slowly, steadily, the various shift leads trickled in. DeLaney rubbed his eyes. He'd recently been transferred from day shift with Antoine to night shop lead. He sat opposite Antoine and poured himself a cup of coffee from his thermos. "I tell you, Antoine, this is a tough adjustment to make."

Antoine chuckled. "The great DeLaney Kaaj is tired? I thought that never happened."

"You try adjusting you schedule by sixteen hours and then stay up for a meeting." DeLaney threw back his head and finished the cup in one long gulp. He quickly poured himself a refil.

"Touché. Oh, and congrats on the promotion. We miss you on First Shift."

"Tell First Shift I miss it too." He slapped the sides of his face lightly, and shook his head.

Stewart came bounding in, a few steps ahead of Sharon. He hopped into an empty chair next to DeLaney, leaving the head of the table open. "Wow, you look beat," he observed. "I didn't know the great DeLaney Kaaj got tired-"

DeLaney cut him off with an annoyed sound and rolled his eyes. "Morning people," he muttered.

Sharon tossed her armload of papers down on the table and wheeled her chair to the back of the room. It was something she seemed to do. Antoine figured it gave her the best view of the entire space, and the people in it. Sharon did the same thing in their shop. She set her notepad on her lap, and took a sip from the bottle of water she'd brought along.

Promptly at nine AM, a middle-aged man in a moderately priced suit came bouncing in. "Good morning, good morning," he chirped, passing out pamphlets to everyone. Antoine noted the Relic watch on the man's pale wrist as he introduced himself. His shoes were high gloss patent leather. Antoine found himself distracted for a moment, watching the reflections on their black mirror-like surface as the man set up his PowerPoint presentation.

The rep smiled charmingly at Antoine, and gestured to the first slide with his laser pointer. "I'm so glad you were able to meet this morning. As you can see, our MiniFlux Isolated Phase Duct Bus is perfect for streamlining switching operations in your plant! This thing practically runs itself, and your team will have a minimum of field maintenance upon install!" His eyes never left Antoine's face. "As you can see from this next slide-"

Antoine caught the stormy look brewing on Sharon's face across the room. He glanced up nervously at the vendor, trying to catch the man's eye.

The rep paused slightly.

Antoine coughed, drew his hand under his chin; _bro, not me!_ He tilted his head towards the front of the table and Sharon. _That way._

Confusion flickered across the man's face. His brow creased as realization dawned. Glibly he turned, the spotlight of his attention landing on DeLaney. "My apologies," he said, cupping his hands. "As you can see, sir, this system is rated for anywhere from twelve hundred to forty thousand amps, depending on usage load…"

Sharon's expression was getting darker by the minute. Her brown eyes flashed with a dangerous fire. DeLaney followed Antoine's gaze over his shoulder. Sharon was slowly rolling her notebook into a tube. He glanced back, eyes meeting Antoine's. They shared one thought.

 _Oh shit._

 _That poor bastard._

Sharon stood up slowly, her lips pulled back. The expression was more predatory than friendly. "Excuse me."

The rep paused, caught in the middle of his spiel. He stiffened ever so slightly at the interruption.

"Yes?"

"I hope I don't sound presumptuous, but I really don't think you read that email very well. The one about who you'd be presenting to."

The man pursed his lips. "Excuse me?"

"Well, I heard you'd be coming down to speak with the Department Lead of Infrasturcture, correct?"

"Yes, quite so. What seems to be the problem, miss?"

Sharon set her water bottle down and rubbed her hands together. Her voice grew soft, quiet, intense. "So tell me, _Mitch_ ; do either of these men look like a 'Sharon' to you?"

The man's face grew even paler, if that were possible. His eyes widened as Sharon advanced, still rubbing her palms. "Because, you see, neither of these men are Sharon. In fact, none of them are. There's only one Sharon here, and that would be me."

He was backpedaling now, retreating awkwardly towards the projector. "I… uh, I thought…"

"See, I do so appreciate your assumption that that the department head must've been a man, especially the initial guess that it was a man like you. My _employee_ , Antoine, sitting by the projector to run it." Her hands froze, clasped together. The last moment before the storm. "Does _he_ look like a Sharon to you?"

Frantic eyes darted around the table. In that moment, everyone, including the rep wished they were somewhere, anywhere else. No matter what happened next, it would not be pretty.

The eruption came as expected; Sharon unleashing a technical barrage of specs on the man, lacing her tirade with none-too-subtle jabs at his terrible faux pas. "How am I to expect you to give me detailed product information when you can't even be correct in your point of contact? No, don't answer that. I think we're done here today. I'll be contacting your people down in Westborough to reschedule this meeting a more _attentive to detail_ representative. Thank you for your time, we're done here."

She turned, and snapped the lights on. "Antoine, turn that thing off."

"Yes, boss." Antoine quickly shut the projector down.

Sharon didn't wait for any follow up discussion. She was already out the door.

...

Antoine drove his car into the empty hanger, parking it near the side wall where the gear lockers and his toolbox stood. The place seemed so much larger without the chopper. Empty aside from a few supplies Infrastructure had stashed in the corners. The sounds of his work boots echoes on the epoxied concrete.

He hauled his bike from the bed of the Rampage and leaned it against a wall. He planned to leave the car at the hanger till he was done. The weather was mild, and Antoine enjoyed biking to and from work.

Out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention. Antoine turned, curious.

Like most hangers, this had been divided into different sections, the epoxy floor marked with heavy painted lines to delineate the areas. Heavy swaths of yellow surrounded the spot where the helicopter once sat, marking a safe distance from the rotors. Red lines marked fuel supply lines and flammable material storage. White lines indicated "safe" spaces for work and preparation.

Without the presence of the AW A119 Koala Lima Delta dominating the space, the lines had been largely ignored. A pallet here, the ATV with its helipad snowplow parked there… it wasn't the bastion of order it had been when Antoine had 'lived' there.

Well, technically, if one counted his hidey hole behind the lockers where he'd stashed a couch, space heater, and microwave, in many ways the hanger had been his second home.

It wasn't the lack of order that drew his attention to the rear corner.

Quite the opposite: it was the precisely organized parts and row of tools laid out across a folding table that stood out. Intrigued, he left his Rampage, "Nessie," and indulged his curiosity.

The table was covered with bits and pieces of what looked like robotics wear. A soldering iron, and several other micro-miniature level tools were laid out in neat order above the parts.

There was a spherical cage that reminded him of the so-called "buckyballs" his middle-school science teacher had mentioned. It was an open sphere, each piece connected to others to form two perfect domes, held together with small clasps. It was lightweight, yet surprisingly strong.

Antoine lifted the sphere up in his hands, peering at it.

The sound of the side door slamming startled him. He twitched, almost dropping the hollow ball. "That would be mine, Radson," a familiar voice barked.

Antoine set the ball down as Sharon briskly crossed the room, a lab coat billowing about her legs. She regarded Antoine with a strangely pensive look. Antoine couldn't read it. He took a step back from the table.

"That came out a bit harsh, I'm sorry," Sharon said as she pulled out a folding chair and set it up. "I've been a bit on edge today."

"Yeah," Antoine agreed. "I'd noticed. Whatcha working on, if you don't mind me asking."

Sharon pulled a blue tote bin onto the table and popped the lid off. The inside was full of egg-crate style foam packing material. She removed the top layer and gestured to the contents.

"Whoa!"

Antoine pulled his blue hair back and leaned his head over the top. Nestled in foam padding was a multi-propellered drone about the size of a large dinner plate. The controller, a tablet, a charger and spare batteries were tucked in their own pockets beside it.

"So that's what you were working on in the shop the other day?"

"Yes." She took a rubber band out of her pocket and tied her hair back, pulling the neat box braids into a loose bun.

Antoine hesitated, unsure whether to stay or go back to his own project. Sharon seemed preoccupied. Something in his guts told him to stay. He listened to it.

"I was rather harsh on the rep today, wasn't I," she remarked as she lifted the drone out of its homemade case. It wasn't a question.

"You were," Antoine replied carefully, "but I get it."

"I don't know if you do. I was the president of the robotics club at Rensselaer Polytechnic. We had a battle-bot team. I was the captain of that as well. Whenever the referees came to check us in, without fail they went to the token Asian boy first. Every time! Then they'd work their way down the line: white man, Indian, until by process of elimination they realized it was me. Same as when I get applicants with no experience who think working Infrastructure is a maintenance job for high school drop outs." Her voice was bitter as she popped the cover off the drone and examined the miniature engine inside. "So I guess, Radson, I'm venting because I'm tired of all the crap from people who think I'm just some affirmative action secretary case, or something. I shouldn't be laying this all on you, it's unprofessional."

Antoine shrugged. "Yeah, no… I get it. I mean, that's why you were pretty strict on me when I started working for you. I understand."

Sharon raised her eyes, expression patronizing. "How could you possibly understand?"

Antoine reached into his wallet and pulled out a small photo. He looked at it, smiled, then passed it over to Sharon.

She looked at the two figures, a dark skinned man with his arm around a white woman, not comprehending.

"My parents," Antoine explained. "Adoptive parents," he added, seeing her skeptical expression. "My dad, Marcus, he was a chopper pilot in Nam, and after the war he got a job flying supplies and the occasional tour. Debbie, she's from Western New York. She met Marcus, and decided to move here with him. I got to see it firsthand how people treated my dad when he was in his pilot's suit versus when he was in sweats and a tee shirt. They live in Heidelberg. Preston and I were there for a block party last week. His first time in my old neighborhood. A bit of a culture shock for him. So yeah… I totally get it."

Sharon pursed her lips thoughtfully, then handed the photo back to him.

"I didn't know you were adopted."

"I was mostly in the system, but the time I spent with Debbie and Marcus, and reconnecting with them now, they're my family, y'know?"

Sharon had the drone broken down into several main components. She pulled an older model iPhone out of her kit bag, and started prying at the cover. In a few minutes, she had it off. She tapped a pen on the table as she thought.

"Whatcha doing?" Antoine asked.

"Scavenging components from my old iPhone," she replied. "It's got a Qualcomm multi-band RF transceiver. I need this drone to be able to communicate with newer phones."

"Couldn't you just buy one? And what are you going to use it for?"

Delicately, Sharon tapped the guts of the iPhone with her pen. "I want to make an impact-proof drone for inspecting some of the harder to reach places around the facility. While such things are manufactured, to get one with the specs I want, that's way above the department budget. It's cheaper and easier to build my own. Being inside that cage, even if it collides with pipework or a breeze nudges it into the wall, it'll be fine. This will cut down on man-hours and associated risks for routine inspections." Sharon listed several more virtues of her drone before lapsing into silence. Antoine watched as she deftly disassembled and reassembled the parts, ran test charges through them, jotting down notes as she went.

"Is everything okay, Antoine?" Sharon asked without looking up. "You seem rather distracted as of late. If there's anything that's going to affect your work performance, I need to know about it."

"Nah," Antoine lied. "Everything's fine."

"Good, good." Sharon reached over to turn her soldering iron up. "I don't mean to be rude, but I need to concentrate on this part. If I make a mistake, I'll need to make a completely new control module."

Antoine stepped back. "Yeah, I've got some work to do on my car too." He gave a half-wave, and loped back to the Dodge. He slid the hydraulic jack under the lift point, and threw his mind into the project.

...

When Antoine got home, Preston was more or less where Antoine had left him. He was sitting in his pajamas, a dressing robe over his shoulders, mindlessly surfing through channels. Antoine flopped down in the armchair nearby, and attempted to make conversation.

Preston responded, but his focus was elsewhere. It was clear he didn't feel in the mood for idle chit-chat. He was withdrawn, physically and emotionally. After several false starts and strained exchanges, it was clear they were going nowhere.

Frustrated, Antoine folded his arms across his chest. "What is up with you lately?" he demanded.

"Nothing's up with me," Preston snapped back. "I've got everything under control if that's what you're implying. I don't know why you've been on my case so much lately. Everything is fine."

"So, what's the plan for tomorrow? You going to work then?"

Preston's eyes narrowed.

"Miss Vought forwards email to my computer, and calls to my cell phone. If you're implying I haven't been working…"

"No, it's not that! But your job's a lot more than just answering calls and sending emails-"

"I know, _Antoine_. I'm well aware of what my job entails, _Antoine_. I suggest you focus on _your job_ , and let me worry about mine."

Preston's tone was uncharacteristically waspish.

Antoine scowled. Without a word he got up and stalked off. He grabbed his cell phone off the dressed in the bedroom and stepped out onto the back deck. He watched the water lapping at the edges of the pool.

"Do your job _Antoine_ … worry about yourself, _Antoine_ ," he muttered with an annoyed eye-roll. He unlocked his phone and selected a contact. "Yeah, that ain't happening, Prep."

He threw himself down into a deck chair and waited for the line to connect. International calling. It always took a bit longer. Finally, the line connected. After several rings, it went to voicemail.

"Hey, Mister Tucci, it's me: Antoine. I'm not really sure what time it is where you guys are. Sorry if I'm calling in the middle of the night. Anyhow, it's Preston. He's going through some stuff lately, and it's a lot like how he was struggling after The Incident several years ago. I've been trying to talk to him, but he's gotten pretty withdrawn. I know you and Momma T. said ya felt bad you hadn't been there for him in the past sometimes. This is a good chance to reach out to him now. I think it would help to give him a call, or Skype, or something. It'd be good for him, y'know?"

Antoine felt he was starting to ramble.

"Well, anyhow, that's what's up. Hope you guys get this and give him a call. Thanks. Bye."

Antoine disconnected and folded his arms behind his head. He stared up at the sky. The cicadas were starting early this year, the trees at the edge of his yard buzzing loudly. The light from the pool gave a soft blue glow to the otherwise dark deck, flicking softly with ripples from the breeze. It was a sultry night, the air laden with earthen scents and unspoken thoughts.

Tomorrow would be another day.

He hoped Preston's parents would call.

* * *

Antoine expected Preston to make good on his plan to stay home yet again, and Preston did. They didn't speak much, except for Antoine to express his concern.

Preston shrugged. "I'm fine," he replied, echoing his words from the night before. He sat at the breakfast bar, wearing the same pajamas and bathrobe as before. He scrolled through newsfeeds on his tablet, quickly skimming but reading nothing. A mug of rapidly cooling black coffee sat by his outstretched right hand.

Preston rarely drank coffee.

Antoine wrapped his arms around his fiancé's angular shoulders. "I love you, Preppy," he muttered Preston's neck. The dark scruff of Preston's two-day stubble felt strange against his skin. He kissed Preston's rough cheek.

Preston returned the kiss. "I love you too, Antoine," he replied. Dark circles lined his eyes. He smiled, but the effect only made his expression more hollow.

"Take care of yourself, Prep. Eat something. I might be a little late. I want to get a new belt installed on Nessie before I head home."

The only reply was a grunt of acknowledgement as Preston returned his attention to his newsfeed.

Antoine caught the bus to work. He did his job. After his shift ended and Second Shift arrived to relieve him, he went to the hanger and worked on his car.

A bit later Sharon arrived and fussed with her drone for a spell. She did a few test flights that apparently failed to satisfy her requirements, and grounded it. Antoine watched out of the corner of his eye. Its effortless hovering reminded him of his time in the air, behind the yolk of the Little Diva. Feeling vaguely nostalgic, Antoine threw himself into his automotive project.

By the time he looked at the clock, it was already well past five in the afternoon.

He checked his phone; no texts, no voicemails. He'd been half-hoping for a message from Preston. Even a "where r u?" would've been preferable to nothing. Antoine yelled a goodbye to Sharon, and waved.

She returned his wave.

There was something nice about having company in the hanger today, he decided. It didn't matter that they didn't talk. It was simply nice not to be alone. From the way she'd claimed that back quarter, it was clear she wasn't planning on moving out any time soon. Antoine resolved to bring his old boom-box and set it up. They'd definitely get better channels than in the team workshop downstairs. Music always made work go quicker.

The first thing Antoine noticed as he walked down the short street towards his house was the tan Chrysler 300 in his driveway.

The second thing he noticed was the Virginia license plates.

"Dafuq?" he asked, quoting a frequent internet meme. He walked around the car, cupping his hands to the tinted windows. The interior was empty, devoid of any clues as to the driver. Antoine pursed his lips. He didn't like surprises, and strange cars in his driveway definitely fit the bill.

He was halfway into the entry hall, a question on his lips when the voices from the living room interrupted him.

He immediately recognized the velvet tone. Janet Tucci, Preston's mother. She was speaking low enough he couldn't make out the words.

Antoine galloped into the living room and skidded to a halt.

Never in a million years could he have guessed at the scene before him.

Janet and her husband, the reserved and dignified Alfred sat at either corner of the couch. Preston sat between them, tucked under Janet's arm, glasses on the table behind him.

Alfred and Janet looked up as Antoine entered. Alfred gave Antoine a single nod. It spoke volumes. _I got your message_ , he said without words.

 _Thanks._ Antoine returned the nod, and dropped into the chair nearby.

Preston didn't uncurl from his mother's embrace.

"So…" Antoine began slowly, awkwardly.

"… You called my parents," Preston whispered.

Antoine ran a hand through his hair. "Well, yeah. I was worried about you." He picked at his fingernails nervously. "I hope you're not mad about it."

"No. Thank you."

Janet stroked Preston's back, her eyes meeting Antoine's.

To his relief, there was no malice in her expression. Just a tired look of gratitude.

Antoine tapped his feet on the floor. "It got bad, didn't it."

Preston raised his head and nodded. "It did. How did you know?"

Antoine shrugged. "I pay attention to you. I love you. I saw how you were after Alkali Stark, and the way you withdrew and everything. Back then at least I could ask you to live with me. But this time, it felt bigger than something I could fix on my own, you know? So I called in reinforcements."

"You know my parents were in Italy, right?" Preston rubbed his eyes and reached for his glasses.

"Actually, I didn't. I just knew they were out of the country. I never expected this." He gestured to Alfred and Janet. "You guys here; now."

A round of awkward silence followed. Antoine coughed nervously, and ran his _other_ hand through his hair, as if unsure what to do with himself. "I'm glad you're here through," he added, looking from Alfred to Janet, then back. "What time did you get in?"

Alfred glanced at his watch. "We got in several hours ago. We've been here since three."

Preston pushed himself up from his mother's arm, adjusting his glasses.

"So I guess you guys talked for a while then."

"We did," Preston replied.

Antoine nodded thoughtfully. "Care to give me the Cliff Notes edition?"

"Come again?" Preston asked, shifting towards the edge of the sofa.

"Y'know, the quick and dirty. Or maybe it's none of my business." Antoine tried to look relaxed. He concluded he was probably failing at it. He got up and went to the wine rack. He pulled out a bottle of scotch Preston had given him for Christmas. Generally a wine drinker himself, Antoine felt the time was right for something stronger. He undid the cork, and poured a few ounces into a rock glass. After adding some ice cubes, he returned to the living room. "Does anyone else want anything while I'm up?"

No one did.

Antoine leaned against the mantle and slowly sipped his scotch. "So, Preston, talk to me," he pushed. Then added: "Please."

Preston looked over at his parents, as if looking for reassurance. He stared at the ground. He looked out the window. Anywhere but Antoine's face.

"I've been struggling with stuff lately…" Preston began.

Antoine resisted the urge to say _obviously_. He sipped his scotch and held his tongue. This was Preston's time to talk. He tried to calm his mind, a whirlwind of both worry and anger. Anger at Preston for being withdrawn, anger for feeling helpless; anger at being worried in the first place. He forced himself to sit still and listen.

"I wish I could tell you why, Antoine," Preston confessed. "It's not you, and it's not because we're getting married. That's a good thing, and I'm happy about it. I know I should be overjoyed, but my mind… I don't know how to describe it."

"It gets in the way?"

"Exactly! It's hard to focus, and I feel exhausted most of the time. Things that shouldn't worry me do; and the things that should be no big deal leave me overwhelmed. I look at my job, and I wonder if maybe I shouldn't just quit. My brain tells me I'm not CEO material, I'll never be. Best to leave now before I ruin everything.

Preston continued: "I get flashbacks of all the mistakes I've made, things that have gone wrong. When Burns and Ryan went missing last month I couldn't help but think somehow Franklin had come back to finish the job. That's utterly irrational, and on some logical level I know this. But _knowing_ it doesn't help. It doesn't fix anything. Even being well aware they're back safe and sound changes nothing."

He paused, looked up at Antoine. "You know, I think I would like a drink afteral."

"Same as mine?" Antoine held up his glass?

"A bit of water too, please."

"Certainly."

Antoine brought Preston a glass of scotch, then settled back into the armchair.

"Everything is just so much harder than it should be, for no good reason. I can't sleep at night, I can't function during the day. I'm not hungry though I know I should be. I feel like all I do is go in circles, obsessing over the same inane things. And it never solves anything." He dropped his forehead into his hand.

"I don't know what to do Antoine. I'm drained and frantic all in one, paralyzed with the weight of problems that only exist in my own mind, and I can't seem to move on."

Janet gently rubbed the back of Preston's neck.

Alfred leaned over and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

From across the room, Antoine nursed his scotch. "Yeah, you're pretty much telling me what I already knew, no offense. And I want to help you, I really do. But sometimes this stuff is bigger than one person, Preston. Sometimes ya need to know you're not going at it alone. That's why I called your folks. You should know, we're all here for you. Whatever it is, we'll help you get through it. I can't do it for ya (I wish I could), but I'm still here and I'm not going anywhere."

Antoine gestured to Preston's parents. "And neither are they! Hell, they flew all the way from Italy just because I said you seemed pretty down! If that doesn't mean they care, I don't know what does."

"Maybe I don't feel worthy of that."

Antoine shrugged. "Well then that's bullshit. Pardon my French, but it is. You remember what we talked about, when we got back from Burnsie and Waylon's place after their wedding?"

 _"Hey Preston," he called out, mildly concerned. "What's this?"_

 _"What's what?" asked Preston from the kitchen where he'd been warming a frozen pizza for dinner._

 _"These little pills," replied Antoine, shaking the bottle._

 _Preston hastily appeared in the doorway and held out a hand. "You weren't supposed to find those."_

 _"What are they?"_

 _Preston sighed and slipped the pill bottle into his pocket. "I'm not going to lie to you. It's Xanax. For my anxiety." Preston could caught the expression on Antoine's face. "Oh come on, don't look at me like that. I don't even know what that look means."_

 _Antoine rubbed the back of his neck. "It means I want to make sure you're okay. It means I care about you and I worry. I knew you were struggling since that incident and all, but I guess I didn't realize how bad it was."_

 _"Yeah, it was getting pretty bad."_

 _"Why didn't you tell me?"_

 _Preston looked away. "I was afraid you'd think less of me. That I was weak, or a junkie, or something. It's hard to deal with things that are all in your own head. Sometimes it seems like I'm the only one who feels this way. I don't want to let you down."_

 _"Look," Antoine began firmly, "I don't judge. You're my friend, I care about you and I wanna see you succeed. I know you're going through stuff, and I know I'm not. Things affect us different. That's okay. As long as you're getting better, as long as that head doc and those peachy little pills are helping, keep up with both." Antoine put his head on Preston's shoulder, his blue hair falling around Preston's neck. "But if they stop helping, or you start feeling worse, promise me you'll tell me, okay?"_

 _..._

Preston cracked his knuckles. "I remember."

"So do I. And you promised if things started getting bad, you'd let me know."

There was a moment as Preston digested what Antoine had said. He took a long sip, the ice cubes clinking in his glass. "I guess I let you down then."

"Not at all!" Antoine shook his head. "You just don't have to feel like this is all on you to fix, is all." Antoine pointed to his tattoo, to Preston's ring. "I made a commitment to you! We don't have to be officially married yet for me to make good on it. I wish I knew what caused it for ya. Then maybe I could keep it from happening."

"I don't think," Preston began slowly, "that anything causes it. It just seems to happen. It's probably always been something that happens, but it never got bad until The Incident. And now, I have to be a bit more careful."

"So it's something that's always been a part of you." Antoine raised his glass, peering through it.

Preston furrowed his brow. "Probably. Why?"

Antoine gave a short laugh. "Because it's proof that even the accomplished musician, polyglot, and CEO Preston A. Tucci is human after all!" He tilted his glass towards Preston, and slammed the rest of the contents back in a single gulp.

Seconds later, Antoine was sputtering and rubbing his throat.

"Jeez, what happened Antoine? Are you okay?"

"Swallowed an ice cube by accident," Antoine confessed, feeling his cheeks redden. "Sorry, I'm not very good at making toasts or slamming scotch. I probably should abstain from both."

Preston chuckled, then despite his mood he laughed: a genuine, friendly sound. Something Antoine hadn't heard in far too long. "Oh Antoine," Preston chortled, wiping his eyes, "only you!"

"Right? Only me!" Antoine beamed. "And only you, too! I guess we're two of a kind, eh? I'll let you do the shots, and Long Island Iced Teas-"

("-Oh god, don't bring that up!")

"And I'll take care of doing whatever it is I'm good at. Which is, at least right now, making you smile. There, do you feel better now?"

Preston hesitated. "A little, but not completely."

Antoine shrugged. "Well, it's gonna be a long road, but at least you got company for the trip. I'm here, and I don't you how long y'all are staying in town," he gestured to Janet and Alfred. "But for the time being, let's roll with it and call it a good start, eh?"

"I'd toast to new beginnings," Preston said as he raised his glass, "but I know how that would go." He winked at Antoine, a spark of his old sass flickering in his smile.

"Scotch is more of a sipping drink anyhow," Alfred remarked from his corner of the couch. Though his face was serious, there was a faint upturn at the corners of his mouth. For a reserved and aloof man as he prided himself in being, such a display was the equivalent of a broad grin.

The effect wasn't lost on his son, or Antoine either.

"Hey, even Mister T. agrees!" Antoine gave a nod towards the wine rack. "What about it, Mister T? Momma T? Just a sip for the sake of family?"

"What is it?" Alfred asked.

"Laphroaig, Madeira casked," Preston replied. "I picked it out myself."

Alfred raised his thick eyebrows. "A good choice. Milder, less peaty than some. A good introductory scotch." He smiled knowingly at Antoine.

"Hey, guilty as charged." Antoine shrugged. "I'm a noob! But when it comes to wine, I can and _will_ hold my own." It was a friendly challenge, and they both knew it.

As the evening slipped into night, three Tuccis and one Radson savored the taste of Islay. Though Preston clearly wasn't magically cured, Antoine could see the effect having his parents' support made. It might not be the end, but it was most definitely a good beginning.


	26. And They Rock'

Time was always an elusive thing. On one hand, anticipation could make a wait stretch into eternity. On the other, delight could make hours pass in an instant. _To see the world in a grain of sand_ , Preston mused as he took one last look at Antoine's sleeping form.

It was the opening line of a poem, Auguries of the Innocent, or something like that. Preston wasn't quite sure of the title. English literature had been a subject his teachers impressed upon him at extreme resistance.

 _And a heaven in a wild flower_ …

Preston glanced out the window, beyond the railing of their balcony suite to the beach and ocean down below. The Atlantic was oddly calm for this time of year, rolling comfortably in its grey cradle under a near-full moon.

The moonlight streaming into the room provided more than enough light. Preston quietly slipped a pair of comfortable tennis shoes and a light windbreaker. He moved carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. He didn't want to wake Antoine.

Antoine Radson was sleeping mostly on his stomach, arms around his head. Under the sheet, the soft curve of his belly and contour of his strong legs blended into a tangle of the comforter he'd kicked towards the footboard sometime earlier that evening.

 _Hold infinity in the palm of your hand…_

They'd both planned to go to bed early that night. But as the sky darkened, and the moon rose, Preston found himself unable to sleep. He lay on his back for what seemed like hours, Antoine's arm draped across his chest. Preston listened to Antoine's breathing. When it became deep and regular, Preston delicately extricated himself and got dressed as quickly and noiselessly as he could.

 _And eternity in an hour._

At the simple chain hotel, on the shores of Cape Cod, Preston Alfred Tucci checked his pockets for his room key and wallet one final time, then left, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

How long had it been since he'd walked along the cape beaches after dark? Preston couldn't remember. At the edge of the boardwalk, he took his shoes and socks off. The sand would simply fill his shoes anyhow. And there was something restorative about the feeling of it under his feet.

He tucked them beside the boardwalk, confident no one would steal them. Arbitrarily he turned right, following the angle of the waves as they washed against the shore.

The past two days had passed in a whirlwind of colour, faces, and joy. He rubbed his hands together, savoring the feel of his wedding band against his palm. The metal clinked against the ring on his right hand, the simple engagement ring Antoine had proposed with what seemed like a lifetime ago.

His feet moving of their own accord, Preston let his mind wander, taking him back to the heartbeat of yesterday which still seemed almost like a dream.

Antoine had planned everything.

Of course he had.

The man had a knack for organizing and coordinating events. He said it wasn't much different than a flight plan; only with more food and a cake at the end.

Preston chuckled.

Of course, cake.

The day before their ceremony, the guests arrived, some by car, and some flying in to Logan International Airport. Preston's parents drove. They brought The Car, that candy-apple red Mercedes Alfred was so proud about. It made sense. The weather was perfect for a convertible, and Alfred said nothing about a handful of extra miles on the odometer that he must've known he hadn't put on.

 _I still can't believe we went cruising in your dad's car_ , Antoine's voice spoke up from the memories of his mind.

Believe it, Preston thought back, remembering their weekend cruise. He wondered if his father actually had noticed the miles. Internally he shrugged. It didn't matter now.

At the rehearsal dinner, Preston sat beside Antoine as they alternately held hands, or rested a hand on one another's leg. Preston had expected to feel out of sorts, ill-at-ease, then blending of two families. Instead, he felt nothing but supreme pride.

Head high, Preston watched as his mother and father met Antoine's adoptive parents. The two families had never come face to face before. Lean Alfred and his refined wife, Janet; juxtaposed against former 'Nam veteran Marcus, and his artistic wife, Debbie.

Neither of Preston's parents had served in the war. The generations didn't line up, and immigrant status wasn't discussed. Preston's grandparents had moved to the United States from Italy, raising a family once they settled in the proverbial Land of the Free. Preston's uncle, his father and aunt all had anglicized versions of Italian names.

Preston's aunt had reversed the trend, choosing classical names. His cousins, the twins Marcello and Stefano, several years his senior, had wholly traditional names. His father, the middle child, had kept with American style.

Preston listened in a blissful daze as Marcus and Alfred chatted, at first with distinct trepidation, then later with reckless abandon as the evening progressed. It came to a head when Marcus, grinning ear to ear, offered to show Alfred the shrapnel scars on his leg.

 _What is it with your family and scars?_ Preston hissed to Antoine as Debbie quickly intervened.

 _I dunno_ , Antoine replied, running a hand over his shoulder where the crossbow bold had gone nearly straight through. _Like father, like son?_ He offered an innocent shrug.

Marcus raised his head towards Preston. _We all have to cope somehow_ , he replied.

There was a moment of awkward silence as everyone regarded the table with sudden interest.

Janet Tucci broke the tension, changing the topic deftly. _Tell me, how did you two settle on this location?_

Preston opened his mouth to reply, then shut it with a smile. He gave Antoine a gentle nudge. _You really ought answer this._

Preston may as well have told Antoine Christmas was coming early.

The blue-haired man's face lit up. Antoine leaned back in his chair, eyes twinkling and began.

Antoine himself did all the planning. He had chosen the venue, both for the dinner and the following ceremony. He rambled on about how he'd chosen food, arranged for wedding party photos, and so on. Antoine rambled on about the process of selecting the location, booking the agents, inviting the guests. _Originally we'd planned Florida, but like anyone can get that on short notice, and travel's expensive. So we did the off season. I mean, August's nice, but come September the kids are back in school so it's not half as crowded._ Antoine continued to ramble proudly, an arm draped around Preston's shoulder as dessert and coffee were served.

The wedding itself had been everything Preston ever could've imagined.

On the beach, early in the morning before the guests arrived, he and Antoine posed for the photo shoot. They'd both chosen their outfits well in advance, based partially on style, and partially on personal taste.

 _Me in a suit? We're tyring to make this not look forced_. Antoine wore a loose fitting long-sleeved cotton shirt, a V-neck collar with lapels; more tunic than dress shirt. His pants were made of a matching blend, and tied at the waist with a drawstring. It reminded Preston of something he'd seen while studying Mandarin: a simple yet stylish outfit.

Preston felt more comfortable in the traditional suit. A linen suit, cream in colour, over a white dress shirt. No tie, but he did coordinate his oxford brown belt and shoes.

Antoine, not surprisingly, had decided to go barefoot.

 _I can't believe you hired a photographer_ , Preston whispered into Antoine's ear under the golden morning sun.

 _Hey, I'm only getting married once. I want to make sure it's everything perfect, you know?_ Antoine replied as they held hands and leaned against each other. The clicking of the shutter on the photographer's camera faded into the background. In that early moment on the beach, it might as well have been them alone. Preston cupped Antoine's jawline. Gently he lowered his forehead till he was just resting against Antoine's.

 _Thank you_ , Preston whispered.

 _For what?_ Antoine asked.

 _All of this, and for not giving up on me when things were not the best_.

Antoine pressed his forehead against Preston's, wrapping his arms around the thin man's shoulders. His fingers found their way into Preston's short, cotton-down hair and knotted themselves into it. _I love ya Prep. I don't know how or when that started, but I do know it's never stopped_.

Oblivious to the camera, the ocean, and everything but each other, the two men kissed; heartbeats matching the rising sun.

The ceremony itself flew by in a blur. Preston remembered walking down the aisle with his parents, and took his place by the alter. Pastor Julie, a woman he'd just met but a little while ago smiled reassuringly.

Preston tried not to shift his feet, fidget with his hands. He tried to still the pounding in his chest. For a frantic moment he wondered if he should hold them at his sides, or clasped politely in front. He felt dizzy, excited, and faint all in one. His eyes panned the guests, trying not to make eye contact with anyone in specific, lest he lose his professional mien.

Neither he nor Antoine had decided to go with personal attendants. Preston, an only child, and Antoine oddly reserved, they'd both agreed on standing solo. Their parents would be seated in the front row.

 _Why me first?_ Preston had asked nervously before the ceremony. Antoine took away Preston's tie and ruffled his hair affectionately.

 _Because it's what we decided on. And because it's you, Preppy_ , Antoine replied. He gave Preston one last kiss, and stepped out, leaving the young groom alone with his parents.

Alfred clasped a hand on Preston's right shoulder. Janet wrapped her arm around his left. You'll do fine. We'll be right there beside you. We always have been.

Preston inhaled deeply, willed his trembling body to be still as Antoine (in all his beautiful and capricious glory) came prancing down the aisle between Debbie and Marcus. He capered up to Preston, grinning ear to ear, and took his place at the left of the arch.

Their wedding vows had been hand-written, a combination they'd both come up with over several weeks. The words were a blend of both of them both; touching yet realistic, humourous, yet genuine. Preston reached out and took Antoine's hands in his.

 _Antoine Radson, I promise to love you, care for you, and cherish you for the rest of my days._ He ran his thumbs over the backs of Antoine's hands. The blue-haired man blushed, then winked.

 _Preston Tucci, I promise to be your rock, your best friend, now and always. I promise to always support_ _you, in good times and bad, today and all our days to come. I also promise to remind you to take a break once in a while, go on vacation and relax. I will not interfere with your viola, and I won't complain about your music selection on road trips, even though Adam Lambert never will be my thing._

 _Antoine, I promise to encourage you, never let you shortchange yourself, and to always let you know when you're making a fashion faux pas._

 _Preston, I promise to listen to your advice, even though I might not take it._

 _Antoine, I promise not to tell you 'I told you so,' when I'm right. I promise to remind you of our anniversary at least two days before, and not hold it against you if you forget until the last minute._

 _I promise, Preston, to never refer to your gentle reminders as 'nagging.' And I promise never to steal all the covers (intentionally)._

Pastor Julie presented the rings. Antoine took the first one and slid it onto Preston's finger. He bowed his head for a moment, before looking up into Preston's face.

Preston would never forget the look in Antoine's clear eyes. They matched the ocean, deep and true. There were tears that threatened to overflow. Preston had never seen Antoine cry, but he was close.

 _Preston Alfred Tucci, you know me better than anyone else in this world, and somehow you still manage to love me. You are my best friend, and my one true love. Even now, there is still a part of me that cannot believe I was the lucky one you said 'yes' to._ He squeezed Preston's hands, eyes misty in the mid-morning light.

The thin man squeezed back. _Antoine E. Radson, I am proud to take you as my husband. For all those times we've been together, there's always been a mutual understanding that's only shared when two people truly love each other. You were there when I faced the greatest challenges in my life. You encouraged my personal growth. You helped me boost my self-confidence. You helped me to become the person I am today. With your love and trust, I know from each day forward I will be a better person than I am today, and I will love you all the more._

Preston could barely remember the moment he slid the ring over Antoine's finger. The sensation as they stepped back and Pastor Julie presented them as partners in life. They kissed. The first was shy, acutely aware of the audience around them. The second was passionate, swept up in a sea of emotion.

Preston barely remembered the order of the rest of the day.

There'd been the cocktail hour on the shaded hotel patio in easy view of the ocean. Brunch, including mimosas, had included a menu assembled by Antoine. Preston barely noticed as his friends circled through to congratulate him. He finally met the son Waylon had talked about, a lean man with black hair who closely resembled his father. Ryan Smithers. That was his name. He'd brought a date; a woman named Stella.

Preston tried to remember the details.

There had been his father talking to Montgomery Burns, expression stoic. Business, most likely. Preston afforded himself a private smile. It was funny to watch his father look more than a little uncertain as he addressed Burns and Smithers in turn, trying both to process their relationship and yet not think too much about it.

Antoine sidled up to Preston, two champagne flutes in hand. He tilted his head towards the Tucci/Burns group. _Look at your dad. Mind: blown_ , he smirked and passed a flute to Preston.

They clinked glasses. _I'd rather look at you,_ he replied, passing a kiss onto Antoine's cheek.

Preston's night walk had taken him to the edge of the beach. Ahead was a marina, boats bobbing in their slips. Without a word, he turned and walked back, walking into this wind this time.

It ran through his hair, reminding him of Antoine's hands. Preston mentally prodded his mind, the tiny quadrant that still couldn't believe this day had truly happened; the part that still expected it to be a wonderful, if imagined, dream.

 _It's real_ , he thought as he gathered his shoes from the edge of the boardwalk. It's all real.

Preston walked barefoot, not bothering to put on his shoes. The sand would just chafe anyhow. Even his feet could make it the few dozen yards to their room.

He slid the key card into the slot, turning the handle as quietly as possible when the lock turned green.

When Preston had left, the moon was still low, shining indirectly into the room. Now, it came in higher, casting milky pools on the Berber carpet. He crossed the floor, set his shoes by the balcony and started to undress.

Antoine stirred in their king-sized bed, shifting slightly.

Preston froze.

"You're back," Antoine murmured. "You didn't tell me you were going out."

"I didn't want to wake you," Preston replied.

"Oh, I woke up the moment I heard the door shut." Antoine rolled over, face catching the moonlight. He gave Preston a sleepy and content look. "Did you have a nice walk?"

"It was nice, yes," Preston replied. He pulled his shirt off and began undoing the belt of his shorts.

Antoine shifted with a warm sigh. "Hey Preston, do you remember that time at my place in Florida? Well, I guess it's _our_ place now, but anyway… that first vacation we took? After we went out for dinner, then bought several bottles of wine to take home?"

Preston slid his shorts off and adjusted the position of his briefs. "I remember."

"Well, I always felt kinda bad about that afterwards," Antoine admitted. He propped himself up on an elbow, pulling the sheet over his shoulders. "I _was_ a bit drunk, yeah; and more than a little confused about what I wanted. But at the same time, it doesn't change anything."

"What are you saying, Antoine?" Preston sat down on the edge of the bed. Antoine didn't slide back. There was plenty of room.

"Well," Antoine hesitated, made a coughing sound and ran his hand through his hair. "I'm not saying… Uh, what I mean is…" He growled and rolled on his back, throwing an arm over his face. "What I'm trying to say is, I should've asked you if you even wanted to do that, not just grabbed at ya. And I guess what I'm saying is, if you ever wanted to try that again, the _right way_ , I guess I'd be okay to try it."

"'Right way?'"

Antoine groaned and rubbed his face with his palms. "The 'talking about it first' sort of way; okay?"

Preston pivoted. He gently lifted Antoine's hands, exposing the man's face. "What are you saying, Antoine?"

"Do I have to spell it out for ya, Preppy?"

Hands still around Antoine's wrists, Preston nodded. "Sometimes, it's best that way."  
Antoine gave a dramatic sigh and mashed his head back into the pillow. "Gah. Fine! Here it is: Yes, I'm asexual – and no I don't want to be the 'pitcher' or the 'catcher!' – but sometimes biology is _biology!_ And even I get… urges. Usually I just take care of myself and that's that, but with you, I can't help but think maybe, just maybe…" he trailed off. "But only if you want to," he added quickly.

Preston felt his body respond, although if he were to be honest with himself he'd been feeling that way since Antoine started talking about _that night_. He crossed his legs as best he could, and folded his hands in his lap. "Well, that's your decision Antoine."

Antoine rolled over till his was facing Preston, body still under the sheets, though they'd fallen from his broad shoulders. "Well, if you're okay with it, I would like to hold you that way again."

Preston's heart (and other parts) surged with delight. "I'd definitely be okay with that!" He stood up, unashamed in the moonlight, and slid his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs. "Are you sure?"

There was an odd desperation in Antoine's face. "Please?" he asked.

Say no more!

Preston slid the last remainder of his clothing off and climbed under the sheet beside Antoine, realizing for the first time his husband was naked. "Weren't you wearing pajama pants when I left?" he teased, running a hand across Antoine's strong chest.

"I _was_..." Antoine replied, eyes twinkling in the dark. Antoine kissed Preston's cheek lightly. "Please, I'd like to feel you on top of me, like we did before. I loved the way it felt last time. I'm sorry I freaked out."

Preston let his leg glide over Antoine's waist. "Trust me, we won't do anything you don't want to do." He felt Antoine readjust his body, his arousal equally compelling as Preston's own.

"And if I suddenly feel like it's too much?"

Preston settled his chest against Antoine's, eyes glancing over the scar by the board man's right shoulder. "Then it's enough, and I expect you to tell me so." Preston rested his weight on his elbows. "Seriously, Antoine, this isn't all on you. I'm a grown adult, I can take care of myself so to speak. If you feel uncomfortable with _any_ of this, anything at all, I expect you to tell me, okay?"

The fear in Antoine's eyes seemed to fade a bit. He was still nervous, but now Preston could see a hint of curiosity as well. "Okay," Antoine replied, sliding his hands down the small of Preston's back. "Okay, I'll tell you."

He shifted his hips slightly, his lust gliding hot and hard against Preston's own. The first movement both urgency and restraint in one.

Preston responded in kind, encouraging in the only way he knew how.

There, beside the sea, beneath the moon, against the waves, they arched together mixing motion and emotion in a passion neither man had ever before known.

As he lay trembling against Antoine's heaving flank, Preston rested, hearing both heartbeat and sea waves alike pounding in his ears. He wrapped his arms tight to Antoine, feeling the world thrust with him, and knew he was forever in love.

 _They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains_

 _The hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent._

 _… And they rock, and they rock, through the sensual ageless ages_

 _On the depths of the seven seas_

 _And through the salt they reel with drunk delight_

 _And in the tropics they tremble with love_

* * *

My thanks to William Blake and D. H. Lawrence for these: "Auguries of Innocence," and "Whales Weep Not."


End file.
